Predestined

by R. Garland Gray

She took both his hands in hers and guided them to the wall. Tynan felt the cool smooth shape of a half-moon rock. A queer influence directed his hands. With searching fingers, he found an indentation on the underside and pushed the surface in. The rock slid back from his hands. A burst of cool air hit him along with a sense of dislocation. He pulled back. An opening? A feypath? By the goddess, my healer knows the secret of the lost feypaths! Tynan turned to her in astonishment and found his head pulled down by his ear. She pushed him forward into the opening. He reached out a hand to steady himself and found prickly vines on one side and rough stone on another.

  The air tingled with an ancient magic. He inhaled, trying to breathe in the scent of the feypath, a marker or signal so that he could recognize it later. Nothing. He suspected the spell had begun to feed on his sense of smell at this point as well. He turned to his healer.

  Bryna covered her nose and mouth and gagged. Behind them, the half-moon rock slid close in silence, leaving them in the feypath’s odd purple light. She turned into Tynan’s bandaged chest for sanctuary.

  “The air stinks of rotting crops. I know there are no planted fields, only endless tunnels bathed in purple moonbeams. But it still smells awful in here.”

  She looked at the tangled canopy of brown vines and silver thorns climbing the walls and ceiling to her right. Derina had explained that the vines were faery cursed and did not need sunlight for growing.

  She stepped away from Tynan. “I guess ‘tis a blessing that you do not smell this rot.”

  Bryna looked up into his handsome face. A sense of intense alertness permeated his rugged features.

  “Come.” She slid her right hand into his. “We must travel far this day.” His hand shifted to her wrist, his thumb searching for her birthmark before he once again held her hand. “Aye, ‘tis me.” She smiled, leading him forward into the strange purple darkness of the ancient feypath.

  She had always thought the feypaths an odd setting, a place of blendings, drafts of cold and heat, and of dryness and moisture. The colors of twilight and dusk held sovereignty, reminders of a predator’s favorite time. As they traveled westward toward the cliffs, thick vines graced one side of the walls while smooth stones, etched with runic symbols, graced the other.

  Bryna decided to travel slowly for the chieftain appeared gravely weakened from what he had suffered. It pained her to see him like this, a being so obviously spirited and strong brought to this low state.

  She guided him around a small boulder embedded in the wall. “Here, around this way.” Her eyes met his for a brief moment and she felt the magic swirling behind the veil of blindness before he looked away.

  In a tiny corner in her heart, Bryna had begun to suspect that this bloody and wounded chieftain might indeed be the one of prophecy.

  She continued to guide him forward, careful that he not stumble or bump into anything. “The sounds of the waves grow distant. In this next tunnel we go inward and head to the waterfall cave.” She turned away from him to gaze down their intended path and then heard a loud smack.

  Bryna jerked her head back and frowned in dismay. “Oh, Tynan.”

  The poor man had banged his head on a low place in the ceiling and was now rubbing a bruised forehead.

  “You are too tall for this place.” Reaching up, she pushed his hair away to inspect the new bump. “I am so sorry this has happened to you.”

  He lifted his head away. His lips thinned and Bryna dropped her hand to her side, attuned to his distress and slightly hurt by his rejection. “I promise to watch you more carefully,” she whispered. “Come, we must go this way.” Taking his hand, she tried to guide him forward but he would not budge. His chin notched up. Nostrils flared.

  Bryna peered over her shoulder into the purple shadows. On either side of the narrow path, silver rock formations glistened with slimy wetness.

  “What do you sense that I canna see?” she said urgently.

  “Bryna child?”

  “Derina?” Bryna called out in surprise

  “Aye.”

  She squeezed Tynan’s hand. “My teacher. It is all right.” She pulled free and ran into Derina’s outstretched arms.

  “Child, I feared your delay and came looking.” Bryna hugged her teacher. “We are safe.” Resting her cheek on her teacher’s shoulder, she inhaled the fragrance of the rosemary herb. The scent belonged to Derina the way the leaves belonged to the trees. The foul stench of the feypathseemed to fade away. She pulled back and smiled brightly through her tears. Her teacher wore a silver brooch and gray cloak this day, blending with the walls of the feypath.

  “I have him,” she said proudly.

  “Aye, though I can sense that he battles weakness.”

  “He has fever.” She moved back to Tynan and wound her arms around his lean waist for support.

  “It is all right,” she soothed, when he glided his thumb over her birthmark. “My teacher, Derina, is here to help us.” She turned back to the ancient. “We must take him to the waterfall cave soon. His skin feels sweaty and hot to the touch.”

  “Aye, a fever grips him.” The ancient moved closer to the wall, her hand outstretched for guidance. “The chieftain is bound by a geas. Do you remember what I have taught you?”

  Bryna nodded, slightly perplexed by the question. “Geas is of magic and obligation.”

  “And?”

  “It is said that faeries imposed a geas upon special people like heroes, kings and druids infusing their lives with magic.”

  “Do you believe this?”

  Part of Bryna believed in the magic. The reality part of her, the slave part of her, had trouble believing horses were deities and thorns were sacred to faeries, let alone a binding of obligation through magic. She looked up at the chieftain standing quietly beside her, a regal being mayhap belonging to the faeries. “Even if Tynan has this magical obligation, he will still need to rest and heal.”

  “True enough. Tynan is his given name then? I dinna know it.” She nodded in thought. “It is a good name, a proud name for the prophecy’s sovereign. Now, child, you must take the Lord Knight of Tuatha Dé Dananns to the waterfall cave.”

  Bryna searched her teacher’s face. “Alone?” she asked. “Do you not come with us?”

  “I have left fresh food, healing herbs, and clothes for him there as well.”

  “Teacher?”

  “I canna go with you, child. Now, listen to me carefully. It is a simple thing to free him of this arcane spell.”

  “I listen.”

  “You must kiss him.”

  Bryna’s cheeks turned a rosy hue. “Kiss him?”

  “Aye, and as you kiss him pull the spider off.”

  “I can kiss him right here if that is all that he requires.”

  Her teacher shook her head. “Not here, child. He must be free of the fever first for it encumbers his geas, stealing his fire.”

  “His faery obligation,” she nodded in wariness. “Do you know what his geas may be?”

  The ancient shrugged in a non-committal way.

  “Is it something bad?”

  “Not bad. Trust me.”

  “Teacher, you are the only one I have ever trusted.”

  “I know.” Her teacher gestured behind her. “Do you remember how to get to the waterfall cave from here?”

  Bryna looked down the tunnel. “Follow the path right until the square opening of rock.”

  “Aye, that is the way of it. You must go now.”

  “Go now,” Bryna echoed softly, feeling her life irrevocably changing. Her inclination had always been to leave well enough alone. Yet, since the coming of her woman’s moon time, another self had been emerging, another stronger, more formidable self that had the audacity to steal a prisoner from the dungeons.

  “Child, doona abandon the land and the prophecy for your own fears.”

  “Abandon the land? I doona understand what you speak.” The chieftain shifted on his feet beside her, a swaying toward the wall.

&
nbsp; “You will. Remember, the faery tribe is different in all things.”

  “I remember.” Bryna nodded, keeping her arm locked around the chieftain’s waist.

  “Especially during their mating time.”

  “Mating time?”

  “Keep that in mind, for the males nip their mates’ jaws before mating. It is a normal thing for them to do. Do not fear it.”

  Bryna frowned at that particular reminder. “I have no inclination to mate with any male.”

  “I know.”

  The druidess turned and started walking away.

  “You are leaving me now?” Bryna could not believe it.

  The ancient looked down, a solemn expression on her face. “For now.” She headed toward another tunnel on their left. “Take Kindred’s ancient lord to the waterfall cave before the poor man falls down.”

  CHAPTER 4

  A KISS TO FREE HIM was all she needed to do.

  She must trust her teacher.

  She must trust that his geas, whatever it may be, would not harm her.

  Kneeling in the soft soil, Bryna looked out upon the waterfall and spray. Sheets of water cascaded down a ten-foot ledge of silver rock into a warm, spring pool. Mist rose above the dark waters. Along the rocky banks of the pool, green moss grew in scattered, uneven clumps.

  Her gaze slid to Tynan.

  Irritation radiated out of every pore of his body.

  He sat on his heels at the far end of the pool, leaning forward. The fever had broken a day ago. Strands of black hair flowed down broad shoulders so that the tips dipped into the swirling pool. He wore a simple pair of faded black breeches and nothing else. Ribbons of pink healing flesh crossed his back. His hands had fast become blistered from repeated attempts to remove the spellbound spider.

  It had been five days since they entered the cave. She knew she could wait no longer and reached for the herbal remedy Derina had prepared.

  Rolling up her right sleeve, Bryna dipped her hand into the clay pot and coated her arm. It was an herbal protection against possible burns from the spellbound spider. She did not know how it would work, only that Derina instructed her in its use.

  Once her arm was coated with the green mixture to the elbow, she stood and walked the length of the cave. Worn black pebbles and tiny shells overlaid the pool’s rocky edge. She could see into the deceptively safe shallows where the line would drop off suddenly into swirling black depths.

  She came to where Tynan crouched. “I have waited too long to free you from this evil spell.” He stared blindly into the water, no awareness of her presence. “It is time to do this thing, Tynan.” Leaning forward, she touched his shoulder. He jerked away.

  She straightened and sighed deeply. “Aye, you are angry with me and rightly so I suspect.” He remained in his crouched position, his patience long since at an end.

  Bryna tried again. She touched his shoulder. The muscle beneath her fingertips tensed, but he did not pull away this time.

  She knelt beside him.

  He exhaled loudly in annoyance and turned to her. A muscle twitched at his jaw.

  “My heart is pleased that you trust me still, though your frustration shows.” She kept talking to ease her frayed nerves. “Doona be vexed with me,” she whispered. “I wanted you strong, for the next battle will be hard.”

  His lips thinned.

  She turned his face so she could view the spellbound spider and decide how best to grip it. “Let me see the creature that binds your senses.”

  He pulled out of her hand and stood, scowling down at her, and Bryna knew that the time for gentle coaxing had ended. She stood too, her mind set with stubborn determination.

  “We must do this the hard way it seems.” She reached for him.

  He pushed her hand away and moved around her.

  She grabbed a handful of wild mane and yanked him back. Rising on her toes, she planted a kiss full on his mouth.

  He froze in surprise. Encouraged, Bryna grabbed hold of his shoulders, balanced on her toes, and kissed him with an urgent purpose born of little knowledge and less experience. She bruised his mouth, mimicking the whores that kissed the soldiers. One whore in particular had taken delight in explaining the art of ravaging a man’s mouth. Skimming her tongue over his velvet lips, she tasted only tolerance.

  Instinctively she felt the wrongness of it and eased her assault. Her mouth took his with tenderness then, following her own nature. His lips parted slightly. Her tongue delved into the hot cavern between, skimming silk and teasing wetness. Large hands caught at her waist, pulling her into the heat of him.

  Tynan kissed her back.

  Her lips were swollen from her hell bent urgency to invade his mouth. She must have cut her lip on his teeth, for he tasted blood.

  Blood.

  A calling stirred in his body.

  Faery blood.

  A fey longing began to burn, a coercion to possess.

  Rich. Dark. Sweet.

  Born of magic and obligation.

  His geas took hold.

  A dark urgency pulsed through his veins.

  A compulsion to mate.

  Now.

  Breath beat at his lungs hard and hot. He did not recognize his geas, a spell of ancient faery magic, stoking the flames of primordial, spellbound lust. Gray mist swirled seductively in his veiled vision.

  Tynan pinned the healer against the wall. He would thrust between her thighs pleasing her for all eternity.

  “Fey witch,” he murmured hoarsely. His mouth hovered in indecision above hers. “Come ride me.” He slanted his mouth over hers, his tongue thrust into her mouth.

  She tasted of wild berries and dark mysteries. She squirmed against him, an impotent rebuff that he had no tolerance for.

  His body pulsed with the gá, the need, instinctively recognizing the woman in his arms as the territorial goddess.

  “By the white moon,” he rasped against her lips. Heat scorched his body.

  Sharp, primitive hunger surged.

  Something wild and untamed roared to life.

  The faery compulsion to mate engulfed him in a red haze. Dark, erotic magic streamed through his blood, creating intensely sexual images in his mind.

  Of a meadow’s caress on his back while small hands locked in his hair.

  Of tree bark against his backside while soft lips trailed wetness down his stomach.

  Of lying in a streambed while a flame-haired goddess rode him.

  Of a goddess’ pleasure.

  Of his own . . .

  Of his geas.

  A fierce hunger erupted, demanding he mate. He felt the want and madness, the teastaigh.

  Now.

  He must have her now. Tynan held her in a submissive position, giving him better access to her jawline.

  “Goddess.” Saliva pooled in his mouth. “Take me.” The ancient faery geas in his blood compelled him to claim her—his faerymate.

  His tongue stroked the right side of her jaw in preparation for his honor-mark.

  He whispered an endearment, then his teeth scraped over delicate skin, savoring the salty feminine taste of her.

  Bryna choked back a sob. He had nipped her! Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was what Derina had warned her of, the male’s mating bite. She pushed against an immovable chest. His hot mouth suckled around the ache in her jaw sending warmth into her quaking limbs. Discomfiture gave way to deep pleasure. Her struggles ceased, her head tilted back giving him better access. She reacted unconsciously, her body crowding up against him. His lips found hers in a passionate kiss. A throaty groan of male pleasure vibrated in her mouth, and then she remembered why she was here.

  Freeing her arm, she reached for the spellbound spider at his temple and pushed him hard away. The hairy creature came free in her hand.

  Her passionate chieftain roared, grabbing his head and falling to his knees in agony.

  Bryna gritted her teeth and held on to the flaying creature while spellbound fire licke
d up her arm. She ran to the edge of the black pool and threw it in. The spider entered the water with a hissing sound and then disappeared into the depths, forever gone.

  She collapsed to her knees at the rocky bank, breathing heavily, weak and shivering in a cold sweat of reprieve. The herbal mixture had shielded her skin, preventing burns, but her arm still tingled hurtfully. Leaning forward, she dipped her arm in the soothing waters. With gentle strokes, she washed the green herbal mixture from her very pink flesh. Her bones ached, a kind of strain as if she had lifted something too heavy.

  She chanced a glance over her shoulder at Tynan.

  “Aile Niurin,” he breathed, holding his head with both hands.

  Rising from the bank, she went to him and knelt. His black hair seemed to glisten with strands of blue light. “Tynan, you are free from the spell.” Tenderly, she pushed his hair aside to view his bruised temple and found herself staring into large eyes no longer milky and veiled.

  More than violet.

  More than mortal.

  Although his head remained slightly lowered, his strange gaze held her captive.

  “You gave me water in the tombs,” Tynan stated with certainty, gazing curiously at the waif kneeling before him. She didn’t seem older than fifteen summers. Then he caught sight of her lush bosom and thought better of it.

  She frowned, black brows creating a slight furrowing between. “I doona understand,” she said in a voice of alluring softness. “How did you know it was I?”

  “You carry the sweet scent of lavender in you hair, lass.”

  “Oh.” She touched her hair in reflex, hands small and delicate. Her silvery gaze dropped to her lap. “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “I feel addled. Where is this place?”

  “The waterfall cave below Kindred, the olden faery fort. Doona worry, we are safe here for a little while more.”

  Tynan slanted a half-glance around the secluded cave. A fine mist drifted above the pond to the shore. He had never seen a place such as this.

  “We are alone?” he inquired.

  “Aye.” She answered him guardedly as if she thought he might pounce on her. He looked back at his healer. She had a delicate fragility about her that pulled at his masculine core. He studied her downcast eyes; auburn lashes were in abundance, shades darker than her hair. “You are the healer?”