A woman, so stunningly beautiful he was nearly blindsided. Her hair was black as midnight, yet glimmered like the dawning sun on serene waters, highlights of lavender strumming through it. Her face looked so smooth and silky that he longed to run his fingertips along it. Her skin was dark, and her body—it was perfection personified. Kane was whelmed by a sudden ache to wrap himself around her, to mold her to him, to feel her essence threading through his soul.
“What do ye see through there?” Cullen asked.
But when Kane said nothing, Cullen studied him for a moment and then noted the mesmerized expression on his friend’s face. Following the line of the warrior’s gaze, Cullen frowned disapprovingly when he saw who had captured Kane’s attention.
“Nay, nay! Ye do no’ want that one.”
“So lovely. Who might the lass be?” Despite Cullen’s protest, Kane could not tear his eyes from the woman.
“‘Tis the druid healer, Fallon Moireach, who should catch no man’s eyes.”
“And why do ye say such a thing?” Kane asked, watching as the lass set down her collected bundle of apple wood branches. She arched her back to stretch, her pleasingly round breasts jutting upward as she turned her face to the sun. Her movement was so simple, yet so enticingly sensual, it had Kane swallowing away the lump in his throat and focusing on the growing lump between his thighs.
“She be the issue of Marlow Moireach and the queen of the fae.”
Without taking his eyes from Fallon, Kane crooked a curious brow. “This man, Marlow caught the eye of the royal faerie?”
“Aye, ‘twas nearly twenty and three years ago this verra day.” Cullen shuttered as he spoke. “Saw it with me own eyes.”
Kane’s mouth turned up into a half smile. He had heard that the faerie queen was an extraordinary beauty. It would explain the astonishing loveliness of the druid woman who was engaging his full attention right now.
“She came upon the Bealtuinn fires whilst Marlow, who was the druid leader at the time, led the rites.” Cullen continued. “And afore we could discern what was happenin’, she snatched his sight and took him away.”
“And that be the last of him?” Kane asked.
“Ach! Nay,” Cullen returned. “Marlow Moreach was returned on Samhuinn, barmy as a the cold is long. And Fallon, she was left at Marlow’s hearth the followin’ Bealtuinn.”
Standing, Kane continued to eye the woman. Despite Cullen’s tale, he was reluctant to believe that the druid posed any harm to him. It was then that she briefly glanced his way, and Kane sucked in a breath, causing him to reconsider that thought, for he would swear on the future king’s life that she had lavender eyes. But she turned from too quickly for Kane to be sure.
“She is quite lovely, is she not?”
A stranger was speaking.
Still looking through the whitethorn wreath, Kane turned to see who it was.
A man sat upon Cullen’s thighs.
“Cease to view me through that ring Gael, for I do no’ fancy that way.”
“Well then, if ye do no’ fancy that way, stranger, kindly remove yerself from me lap,” Cullen said with utmost irritation in his voice.
The stranger slashed his hand through the air, and in an instant, he was standing.
Kane lowered the sprig slowly. He blinked, for he failed to see the man move.
“Who might ye be?” Kane furled his brows, watching Cullen’s eyes widen and his complexion pale to nearly white as he scampered away on his bottom.
“I be The Bryan,” the man answered.
Lifting a brow, Kane stared at him. “The Bryan?”
What half-wit used the word the as a title?
An arrogant one he supposed.
There was something odd about the man, something that Kane could not quite discern. “Whence did ye come, stranger?”
The Bryan lifted a hand upward. “From beyond the veils.”
Kane snorted. “Are ye claimin’ to be a fae, man?”
The stranger had human flesh, though there was a wraithlike mien about him. But a fae?
“A fae-man,” The Bryan laughed, repeating Kane’s words. “Aye, ‘tis exactly what I be.”
“‘Tis truth he speaks,” Cullen choked out as he jumped to his feet. He continued backing away, putting more distance between himself and The Bryan. “There was nothin’ and then he was there in me lap. Came out of thin air I tell ye, and then vanished from me lap to be standin’!”
“And what brings ye to our midst?” Wariness began surfacing and Kane’s body stiffened as he kept a watchful eye on the fae. Slipping his arm across his body he curled his fingers around the grip of his durk. Kane had a deep, visceral sense that this man or faerie or whatever he was, could not be trusted.
“I be here because ‘tis Bealtuinn, friend,” The Bryan explained, a condescending tone threading his voice. “I have crossed the veils for a spell.”
“‘Tis the eve of Bealtuinn, friend,” Kane returned, his dislike for the man-fae rising. He also did not like the fae-man’s use of the word spell, pondering that there was twofold meaning in his comment.
“Aye, well, no matter. I be here nonetheless.”
Looking beyond The Bryan, Kane watched as Cullen vigorously shook his head from side to side. It was a warning, and Kane knew that he should take heed when engaging a faerie. They were quick to anger and quick to react when irritated by a human being. Kane might find himself missing part of his brain or another part of himself he was rather fond of.
Tightening his fingers around his dagger’s grip, Kane pondered what the faerie’s intent might be.
From what he understood, the immortals always had a purpose for descending on man. Whether it be for arduous pleasures, simple mischief or evil intent, there was good reason to be mindful.
“For what reason have ye come?” Kane asked him again and waited for The Bryan to answer him.
With his lip curling up to one side, the fae shifted his gaze to where Kane held the blade, and then his eyes snapped up to lock onto Kane’s eyes. The Bryan’s pupils dilated.
Kane wavered. The hand holding the durk loosened, and his arm dropped to his side. Gritting his teeth, a wave of dizziness came over Kane, and his body suddenly felt as though it were being pricked by an abundance of tiny metal shards.
It was painful.
“Do ye think to pierce me with yer weapon, Gael?” The Bryan laughed mockingly. “With just a pierce of me eyes I have you under me power.”
Wariness turned to irritation when Kane realized that the fae was responsible for his present, discomfiting condition. Jerking his head to one side, Kane shook off The Bryan’s hex, his rising ire overshadowing any fear he would be wise to have of the fae. He most assuredly disliked the creature and the expression that stretched across Kane’s face clearly exposed his feelings.
Immediately it was noticed by Cullen who spoke loudly in warning. “Beware ta anger a faerie, Kane Siosal! ‘Twill bring doom upon yer head.”
He turned to run.
The Bryan snickered at the comment. Doom and gloom were what he was known for best. Without looking behind him, he lifted his arm and snapped a finger causing Cullen to halt. In mid-step he became statuesque, his body frozen within the space around him.
Stiffening, Kane approached the faerie, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Release him.”
And The Bryan laughed. “Such bravery for a mere mortal.”
“Release him now or I shall….”
“Ye will what, Gael?” The Bryan voice lowered to a formidable level. “Kill me?”
Pushing roughly at The Bryan’s shoulders, Kane grunted and stalked a few paces away. Of course the notion was absurd. A fae could not be killed. Yet Kane, unlike his friend, was not afraid of the being.
“Ye still have not explained yer presence, faerie.” Kane spun to face The Bryan, fearlessly looking him directly in the eye.
The Bryan was amused. The one behind him was a coward, but this mortal was a human that could be re
ckoned with. He would enjoy watching him struggle not to fall.
As before, The Bryan snapped his finger and Cullen, released from the spell, crumpled to the ground.
“I have come for the wench,” the faerie said pointing in the direction where the druid woman stood. “Fallon Moireach shall be mine.”
Kane looked toward the area The Bryan indicated, and saw that Fallon Moireach was gone, leaving her pile of apple wood behind. Had the fae-man already taken her? Anger ran rampant through Kane’s blood. How dare the faerie stake such a claim. It was beside the point that Kane had desire for the lass. He heard legends of what the stealing away of a human by a fae meant. It resulted in the ruining of the mortal spirit and emptying of the mortal mind. For this, most humans feared and despised the fae, and Kane could not stomach such a fate for any human, save the pretty druid, half-fae or not. It was a matter of valiancy and honor that drove a rising need in him to protect her.
“Over me lifeless body ye shall have her, The Bryan,” Kane sneered.
“That might be arranged,” The Bryan returned. “Do ye challenge me, Kane Siosal?”
There was nothing in the mortal world, or any world, that The Bryan enjoyed more than a challenge.
Stiffening in his stance, Kane glared at the fae. “‘Tis a challenge I would easily win!”
“Nay! Kane, ye fool. Do no’ provoke him,” Cullen warned, a crease of angst forming on his brow. “If he desires the druid, she shall be his.”
Both Kane and The Bryan ignored Cullen as they glared at each other with confrontational rapport.
The Bryan nodded, his eyes alit eagerly. “A wager, then?”
“Expain yer meaning,” Kane asked.
Holding out the palm of his hand, The Bryan revealed a small sack, tied closed with a thin twine. He tossed it toward Kane and it landed at Kane’s feet. Squatting down, Kane picked up the sack and shook it. There was a clanking sound inside.
He looked up questioningly at the fae. “Coinage?”
“Thirty silver pieces ta the victor!” The Bryan smirked.
“What victory dost ye speak of, fae?”
“The one to bed the druid first.”
Kane’s mouth twisted with disgust. To him it was seamy wager in which he would not engage.
“Ye are able ta match it I am ta assume, Gael?” The Bryan asked before Kane was able to respond further.
Cocking back his shoulders, Kane’s irritation pushed further to the surface. “Aye, of course, I be able ta match it.”
“Agreed then!” The Bryan interrupted. “The spoils be set.”
And with a wave of his arms the faerie vanished.
“Ach, Kane!” With a heavy stride Cullen moved closer to his friend. “Have ye gone mad?”
“I do no’ like him,” Kane returned sharply.
“‘Twas quite apparent that.” Cullen rubbed a palm across his chin. “But ta take a wager with a fae, you can no’ win.”
“I have no intention of protectin’ a woman or beddin’ her for the prospect of compensation, especially from the likes of a scalawag fae.” Kane tossed the sack of silver toward Cullen, who snatched it out of the air. “If ye see The Bryan, return that ta him.”
“Oh nay! May he have left without returnin’, for all our sakes!”
“Friend, I believe ‘tis unlikely.” Kane gave Cullen a doubting look as he walked toward him. He patted Cullen on the shoulder. “Now then, show me where I might find the druid, Fallon. I wish ta meet her.”
Chapter Four
“Why did I look upon him?” Fallon Moireach paced across the dirt floor of her home. “Why did he look upon me? And through the whitethorn sprig, no less!”
With an irritated shake of her shoulders Fallon stalked to the fire and picked up the poker, stabbing it several times into the flames. “I can no’ believe I was carryin’ the apple wood at the time.”
One of the nine sacred woods burned in the Bealtuinn fires, apple was the sacred harbinger of love.
“Well, he will no’ have any brain left after a tumble with me!” She dropped the poker and it hit the hearth stone with a clank. “Ach! I can no’ believe I jest said such a thing.”
Fallon Moireach had not a single intention of tumbling with any man.
“Oh horrid curse!” Fallon balled her hands into a fist, squeezing tightly.
Never had she looked upon a man, for Fallon had been told by many, the elder women, the Chieftain, Alanna, her friend, that because of her half-fae blood, to do so would set a man’s mind upon her. His pursuit would be relentless.
And should he succeed in taking her to his bed, madness would become his only companion until his dying day.
It was the truth they all spoke. Fallon sincerely believed this, attested by her papa’s manner after he tangled with an immortal. Marlow Moireach was snatched away after catching the eye of the queen faerie one Bealtuinn eve, many seasons past. Once a respected druid sage amongst the clans, he was returned some thirty and one days later, dullard in mind. The following season, Fallon, nearly a newborn babe, was set on his doorstep. It was said the queen was forbidden by the faerie king to keep her and thus gave her to Marlow to care for.
In all of Fallon’s years, she never had a normal conversation with her papa. His only utterances for as long as she could remember were restricted to the recitation of the druid orations.
It was how she learned her trade. That and an innate wisdom that allowed her to comprehend the prayers and chants he had spoken throughout the years.
Fallon spun around to study her father. He stared at her blankly from where he sat on a bench near the hearth. Well, she had no intention of being blamed for a man becoming witless, and because of that she remained aloof from all human males.
And catching the eye of a faerie? That was no option either, for the mortal half of her mind would be consumed.
Aside from that, men, may they be of the human world or the next, were not to be trusted. Many a season she comforted a wailing woman tossed aside by her bored, male lover after the handfasting of a year and a day had passed. It was a ritual that Fallon despised, believing it benefited the men more than it did the women.
Nay! Fallon Moireach was destined to always walk alone.
She had no need for a man, fae or mortal, to fill her days, especially with one the likes of … of….
I wonder what his name be?
A small smile creased Fallon’s lips.
He was quite pleasing to the eye, she thought.
“Ach! I do no’ care!”
Flattening a palm against her breastbone, she denied the odd leaping in her chest.
Nay, nay! said her human heart, but her fae blood was singing.
“Curses!”
Frowning, Fallon strolled over to her father and re-arranged the fur about his shoulders. “Are ye warm enough, Papa?”
He did not answer.
“Will ye ever talk to me, Papa, in the common sense?” Fallon dropped to her knees in front of Marlow Moireach and set her cheek on his knees. His hand came up and he stroked her hair, but he uttered not a single word.
“Give me wisdom, Papa.”
A lengthy silence followed while Fallon sat at her father’s feet. She closed her eyes enjoying his fatherly affection and listening to the soothing sound of the wood sizzling and crackling in the hearth.
“Inta a closed fist nothin’ enters.” Marlow finally spoke.
“Aye,” Fallon said in return. “I be strong of will, Papa, and none shall enter me heart.”
There was a knock at the door and Fallon rose to answer it. “Alanna be early.”
Fallon’s friend was to come by to help her ready for the Bealtuinn blessings.
“The heart is as eternal as the soul,” Marlow added.
“Aye, Papa.” Fallon yanked the wooden door open and stiffened as her eyes met the stranger’s gaze.
“And so be loneliness with nothin’ ta fill the heart,” Marlow mumbled.
“Curses!” Quickly Fallon
snapped her gaze away. How could she have been so careless as to look into his eyes, twofold no less! “What do ye here, stranger?”
Her stomach fluttered as she swallowed a gasp. It was him, the man who held the whitethorn sprig.
“Control yer emotions or they will control ye.”
“Hush, Papa!” Closing the door behind her, Fallon stepped outside.
Aye, Kane thought. Her eyes were a lovely lavender color, just as he suspected. Bending to get a closer look, Kane attempted to once again meet her gaze.
But she turned her head away, avoiding the visual contact. The action brought a smirk to Kane’s face for he knew it was not an act of shyness. She failed to drop her eyes to the ground submissively. It was more a reaction of obduracy, it seemed, as her eyes diverted to the side.
It amused him.
“Ye have failed ta answer me question, stranger.”
Kane side-stepped to the direction the druid gazed in. Crouching at the knees he again attempted to get her to look at him. Once more she turned away.
Kane chuckled as he introduced himself. “I be Kane Siosal,”
“Ah, I see.” Fallon smiled—a respectable name. “And now that I know yer identity, man, tell me what brings ye ta me threshold?”
Inhaling deeply, Fallon pushed aside the incredible yearning to look at his face. Instead she shifted her attention to his muscular thighs.
It was less than a help.
On an intake of air her eyes wandered upward to his hips—lean and sensual. Her thoughts turned to passion and a physical ache so overwhelming, she had to turn her back to him in an attempt to dissuade her mind, but the feeling stubbornly remained.
Curse her faerie lust!
“I have come ta give ye warnin’, lass.” Kane moved around to the front of Fallon, intent on looking into her face, but with solid resolution to avoid his gaze, she snapped her head away, closing her eyes this time.
“Warnin’ about what, Kane Siosal?” Turning to him, Fallon opened her eyes, purposely keeping them level. She found herself staring at his massive chest.
`Twas a wonderful chest, so masculine and broad.
Passions of the Flame Page 3