Passions of the Flame

by Passions of the Flame (NCP) (lit)

  Hmph. Taking a sip of his ale, Kane began to swallow.

  “So how many women have ye bedded?” Alanna returned her attention to Kane.

  Kane spit his drink upon the ground and started coughing.

  “What?!” he choked out. Alanna was quite the brazen woman.

  After regaining command of his convulsing lungs, Kane blinked, dumbfounded by Alanna’s query. To Kane, what she asked was a private thing, one not for the telling. And then, he could not believe it, but heat flushed his cheeks.

  He was blushing!

  Kane’s eyes swung to Fallon, who pounded her oats with a force so tremendous he thought the wooden table would splinter.

  “Are ye experienced with women?” Alanna continued to look at Kane, a nonchalant expression on her face, waiting, as if she expected him to answer such a thing.

  Kane’s mouth fell agape. His tongue seemed to stick in his mouth.

  In a goading manner, Alanna picked up the platter and held it out toward Kane. “Shellfish?”

  She winked at Kane whilst at the same time tipping her head to indicate Fallon.

  Kane’s brow lifted though he said nothing. His mouth snapped shut.

  But Fallon—oh Fallon—she was beginning to seethe! Halting in her task, she lifted her head and bore a glare at Alanna so icy it could have frozen a raging forest fire in a midsummer’s heat.

  “‘Tis time fer me ta meditate fer the rites,” Fallon hissed through her teeth.

  With that, she turned about and began stalking away, but unforeseen, a boy child of no more than four, rushed by and tripped over Fallon’s extended foot. Stumbling, the young bairn crashed head first into the table. Rebounding, he fell backwards landing flat on his back. Air expelled from his lungs and began thrashing about, blood dripping from a gash in his forehead.

  “Oh gods!” Dropping to her knees, Fallon swiped at the boy’s forehead, whilst Kane and Alanna rushed around to the other side of the table to see what happened.

  The boy had gone still, his complexion turning an unhealthy shade of blue.

  A crowd began to gather as Fallon reached for her pouches. She withdrew the herbs from one of them. Tipping her eyes skyward and lifting her hands, she quickly recited a chant before sprinkling her medicament over the oozing wound. Fallon then slipped her blade from its sheath and slashed it across the palm of her hand, drawing blood. She pressed her hand to the boy’s gash, her head dropping down to his face, her hair draping all around the boy’s head like a protective cocoon, and she willed her breath into him.

  The healing energies surged through Fallon, and she droned her magical chant, her mind, her soul reaching out, connecting with the boy’s quintessence whilst she channeled her restorative blood and her life-giving breath. Within her meditative trance, Fallon gave praise to the spirits beseeching them and thanking them for sanctioning her body to be the vessel for their curative powers.

  And as Fallon murmured her intonations, Kane watched, his hand seeking the area where his rib had been broken. Never had he seen a druid healing. Mostly, with the druids he ever encountered, he witnessed them only in prayer. What Kane saw before him now awed him. An aura seemed to bend around Fallon, first emanating yellow—the color of discipline and wisdom, and then shifting to a green that was deep at first, but then grew vigorously bright.

  It was the healing color and the color of the growing season as well.

  Admiration—nay, ‘twas more—a longing for Fallon besieged Kane.

  He yearned to have her in his arms.

  She was perfect. Everything a man could want in a woman—gentle and giving, yet strong of will and determined. Kane wanted Fallon with a ferocity that went beyond his lust, beyond the enchantment of looking into her faerie eyes, something his heart could not describe.

  Kneeling beside Fallon, Kane reached for her, and touched her shoulder. He felt a sudden bonding with her—pure and mighty.

  It blew through him like a hasty wind.

  And amidst admiring her druid bestowments, his desire for her was fortified. He felt her essence, caped in the enchantments she spoke aloud, and in the silence of the words she did not speak. His core cried out for her—a blending of human souls—a mingling of spiritual with an incredible human yearning, and Kane wondered if it was just his imagination or if Fallon was aware of it too.

  He did not have to wait long to know the answer. Her head turned up to him. And though she avoided looking him in the eyes, Fallon must have understood, for she gasped. And on her intake of breath, Kane was drawn in, grasping at her, seeking to snare her heart and make it his own.

  Fallon rose to her feet, and Kane stood with her, but rather than acknowledging what passed between them, she turned her back to Kane. Looking down at the child, Fallon was pleased to see him sitting upright. He blinked his confusion, but was otherwise well and healed. The mother came to her child, scooping him into her arms whilst bowing reverently toward Fallon and thanking her for her gifts. And she walked off with the boy, leaving the appreciative crowd behind along with Alanna who praised Fallon’s druid abilities aloud with thankful prayers.

  But Kane did neither of those things. He merely stared in amazement and a great longing for the human woman who stood in the dirt before him.

  “Do no’ come closer ta me,” Fallon said tersely as Kane stepped toward her.

  Turning about, Fallon lifted her palm, flattening it on Kane’s chest to stay him. Through the gap of his leine, where she had torn it apart prior, Fallon made contact with his bare flesh. The heat from his skin radiated and seemed to permeate through her, and though she attempted to ignore its presence, ignore the urge to curl her fingers through his masculine hair, the sensation, nevertheless, stemmed the length of her arm and flooded into her.

  Her insides quivered.

  Fallon’s breath caught, but she refused to swallow the lump in her throat, refused to acknowledge the fierce, aching need for the warrior, Kane Siosal.

  Relieved that Kane halted, obliging her request, Fallon finally inhaled. But Kane’s hands moved and he held her healing hand between his own. Turning it over, his eyes fell to her palm where blood continued to ooze from the self-inflicted slash.

  Kane skimmed his thumb across the wound, and watched it slowly fade before vanishing, leaving not even a suggestion that it ever was. His gaze lifted to Fallon’s face finding that her eyes were fixed askew and away from him. At the same time she attempted to yank her hand free, but with quickened reflexes, Kane tightened his grip and held her fast. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her now mended palm.

  “I want ye, Fallon,” he proclaimed in a lowered voice though it was louder than a whisper. The crowd around murmured at his proclamation.

  He paused, stunned by his own blatantly indiscreet admission.

  But though the feeling took him unawares, Kane was unable to deny it was intrinsically natural to say such a thing to Fallon, as if the words, the feelings, had been stowed within his being, tucked safely away to be used at this very moment.

  Fallon did not move.

  Whether it was from shock at his declaration—or perhaps it was fear—no man had ever expressed desire for her before. Not in public, nor in private, until Kane.

  She was clueless as to how to react.

  Particularly with so many eyes upon them.

  It was something the teachings in druid ethics failed to address. It was an issue a father should address—or a mother.

  She had neither.

  For the first time in her life, Fallon was confused. And from that confusion, her attention snapped toward Alanna, silently seeking answers, only to find her friend smiling broadly at her.

  It was obvious Alanna approved.

  Beside her, Cullen slapped a hand to his forehead. It was an obvious, opposite reaction to Alanna’s.

  “Shoo, shoo!” Alanna flapped her hands at the villagers. “Off with all of ye. ‘Tis well inta dusk and we have much ta do.”

  As the crowd began to disperse, A
lanna turned to Fallon and Kane. “Will we be witnessin’ the two of ye, leapin’ the flames this eve?”

  Kane paled.

  A marriage vow?

  It escaped him to consider something so extreme.

  At the same moment he was pondering exactly what it was he wanted from Fallon, she jerked her hand free. With not another word spoken between them, she spun away from Kane and stalked from the village.

  Starting forward to chase after her, Kane felt a hand upon his upper arm. Turning, he expected to see Cullen, but nay, it was Alanna who stopped him. With his brows drawing together, he gave her a questioning look.

  “She goes ta meditate,” Alanna answered to his unspoken inquiry. “This she must do alone.”

  Nodding with understanding, Kane watched as Fallon reached the brim of the village and then disappeared over the knoll. For several moments Kane was silent, whilst Alanna and Cullen stood quietly beside him.

  “What ‘tis it ye are thinkin’?” Cullen asked as he studied Kane’s pensive expression.

  Kane inhaled, held the breath briefly and then released it slowly. “Did ye see the colors that shone about her?”

  “Colors?” Alanna repeated with a sparkle in her eyes. “Ye have seen inta her soul, Kane Siosal.”

  “Ach,” Cullen groaned. “‘Tis jest the beginnin’. Ye will be witless afore long.”

  Listening to Cullen’s surmising about his forthcoming condition of mind, Kane’s eyes remained fixed to where Fallon had retreated from his sight.

  He pushed Cullen’s warning aside.

  If having a woman as lovely as Fallon Moireach made him a barmy man, then so be it.

  Chapter Seven

  The wolves howled, the sounds of their cries echoing ominously from the forests beyond—stalking, like other unseen creatures—spirits or fae—immortal beings waiting to seize their prey.

  Beneath the luminous, rounded moon, the clans marched, singing their hymns by the beat of a single drummer and the chimes of the cruit strummer, beckoning the gods for the sun’s healthful warmth and the rains that would nourish the dirt.

  Led by Fallon, the procession moved along the paths. From homestead to homestead they went, hanging rowan wreaths upon every door to dissuade any faeries from raising mischief.

  Fires were extinguished in each dwelling’s hearth and would be rekindled later by flames taken from the Bealtuinn pyres.

  To do so would bring blessings abundant.

  Kane walked by Fallon’s side.

  Wrapped from head to toe in a green, hooded cloak, Fallon’s ritual garment concealed every aspect of her face and form. And aware from prior celebrations, that Bealtuinn was a time of deepening spiritual revelation for the druids—a time when their souls bonded with the earth as they beseeched the gods for fertility and a plentiful harvest, Kane honored Fallon’s meditative state, saying not a word to her.

  Behind him, Nevin and Glenna walked, and just behind them, Alanna, her father, Cullen, and his wife, whom Kane had yet to meet.

  The remainder of the clans followed, one hundred and two in number, and a bevy of offspring, their feet moving in rhythmic accord to murmurs of their chanting.

  They ended the procession at the top of the knoll just beyond the village. There, two pyres, foregathered with the nine sacred woods, waited to be ignited.

  At the base of the hill, the deep bellows of the cattle could be heard. Amidst them, the farmers held their sedge torches to purify the air. And they stood heedful, intent on protecting the livestock from the hungry wolves whose cries echoed through the air once more.

  Fallon set herself in between the two pyres, as the remainder of the clans gathered in a circle around. She lifted her arms and waited patiently until all in gathering fell silent.

  “Let the fires be kindled.” Fallon pushed the cloak from her body, and the garment crumpled to the ground, revealing her body in its most natural state—unclad.

  Stretching her arms skyward Fallon gave praise, offering homage to the fertility spirits. With a reverberating boom, smoke went up, a crackling, a spark, and the kindling burst into flames proclaiming victory of the light season over dark.

  The villagers rejoiced loudly with hearkened rapture and Kane stood amongst them, though he was very still.

  Despite the merriment around him, all sound was null to his ears as his gaze became fixated on Fallon.

  He was seized to the core.

  Kane saw not the druid giving adulation and beseeching the gods. He saw not the healer who was revered by the peoples in the clans. What he saw was Fallon, beautiful and womanly in her naked presence and he worshipped her body with his thoughts and his eyes.

  It was sinful, such musings, when all around were thinking only of the blessings they sought. But Kane cared not, his lust surging, his desire for Fallon crying out.

  And then it occurred to him.

  What man, mortal or other, could refuse to look upon such a breathtaking woman without being racked with a libidinous thirst?

  His thoughts were confirmed, for as Kane scanned the area about him, he found that most men present attended to Fallon with lustful grins and leering eyes.

  A growl formed low in his throat, more intimidating than the wolves that howled from the forests beyond. He glared at each and every man until they caught his angry gaze and lowered their eyes away from Fallon.

  “Nine woods we give ye,” Fallon shouted and reached for the basket at her feet, picking it up. “Ta the god, we give oak. Bring the wholesome rains down upon the grounds and nourish our seed. Birch for the goddess, bless us with bright days and bring growth aplenty.”

  Removing several token twigs from the basket, Fallon began tossing them into each of the two Bealtuinn fires.

  “We give fir for healthy births,” she continued, tossing more branches. “Willow ta celebrate death, rowan ta dissuade the evil magic and apple….”

  Fallon hesitated and then gulped an ever so discreet swallow that Kane did not miss. Something happened in his chest—an ache—as she faltered over her words.

  “…apple for love.” Fallon’s gaze darted to where Kane stood, but she failed to meet his eyes.

  “Aye!” several of the villagers answered at once.

  “Better short and sweet, than long and lax!” someone called out, drawing hoots of laughter from the crowd.

  Fallon ignored their jesting and instead persisted with her invocations. “We give ye grapevine ta bring joy, hazel for wisdom, and whitethorn ta celebrate the purity of the season.”

  “May the flames bring us ripe harvest and fruits aplenty! May the fires bring streams of fish, forests of hardy woods.”

  “Clean water!” one of the villagers yelled.

  “Ornaments of silver and gold!” another added.

  “Oh gods!” a male cried loudly. “We do no’ ask ye ta give us wealth, but show us where ‘tis!”

  “Aye,” another said. “And even the deaf man will hear the clink of coinage!”

  Several of the villagers laughed and then nodded their agreement along with cohesive murmurs.

  Stepping from the center of the two pyres, Fallon moved to the side.

  “Eadar theine Bhealltuinn.” Amidst the Bealtuinn fires, she said and summoned the livestock.

  The farmers hooted, thwacking the animals’ hindquarters, driving them forth. The cattle were rushed up the hill bellowing their protests and urged between the sacred flames.

  It was the ritual of blessing to drive scourge from the beasts and ensure their fertility for the mating season.

  The incense were lit and then Fallon began dancing around the flames as the fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood, rose petal and frankincense filled the air, permeating and blending with the smokes from the fires.

  And all inhaled the pleasant aromas.

  “Free us from invasion!” Fallon prayed. “Bring ease ta ev’ry home.”

  Round and round the flames she stepped, her hair fluttering to and fro as she twirled and weaved about the
Bealtuinn fires, weaved about the onlookers.

  All watched her, and Kane relented, seeing it was hopeless that the men could restrain their interest in her. Fallon danced the steps of the season that would bring blessings to all, and all desired to witness this great event.

  Pushing aside his covetousness of Fallon, Kane explored the activity around him. He smiled as he caught Nevin fondling and kissing his wife.

  So much for the neighbor’s woman.

  Suddenly feeling lonely, Kane cast a glance beyond the gathering, staring into the darkness beyond. It was then that he spied the figure sitting upon a rock a short distance outside of the circle.

  Shielding his eyes from the glare of the blaze, Kane narrowed his gaze as he attempted to get a cleaner glimpse.

  The Bryan. There was no mistake about it.

  As if sensing the attention upon him, the faerie-man turned his head toward him, and Kane went rigid at the sight of The Bryan’s faerie eyes.

  They glowed—ethereal—like two round moons, reflecting the fires of the ritual and lighting the arrogant smile on his faerie lips.

  And then, The Bryan turned his eyes back to Fallon, uncaring of the warning rage in Kane’s façade.

  “Gods of the flame we beseech ye,” Fallon cried out.

  Kane started.

  The Bryan rose and was moving. His pace was slow, purposeful, as he stalked in an arc around the perimeter of the gathering.

  “Guide our bondin’ with nature,” Fallon chanted as she twirled around, unaware of the male aggression befalling outside of the throng. “Bring forth the nurturin’ spirits of fertility and future.”

  Kane’s eyes riveted to the fae whose interest fell directly on Fallon. Every nerve in Kane’s flesh rippled with anger and worry as he treaded swiftly toward the immortal. The Bryan paid no heed to Kane, disregarding his advance as if he were just a mere nuisance to be dealt with later.

  The drum beat louder, voices rose higher as the clans sang out their singing praises. All seemed ignorant of the faerie in their midst, save Kane.