Predestined

by R. Garland Gray

  Never wanted to hope for it.

  Never, until now.

  She had thought Tynan only some powerful chieftain of one of the fey tribes, but if it were true, if Tynan was the one prophesied to drive the invaders from the land, then she could be free.

  “Dark Chieftain,” she murmured, unaware that she had spoken aloud.

  The Dark Chieftain tilted his head to her and waited.

  Slowly, Bryna looked up at him, seeing him in a new light, hopes rising in her. “You are the Dark Chieftain of Prophecy?”

  “Aye, does that frighten you?”

  She shook her head even though it did frighten her, frightened her deep down inside; change always did.

  “Why Dark Chieftain?” she asked. “Why not just chieftain?”

  “There is a faery darkness that comes into the eyes when I am . . .” he did not finish, but took a deeper breath. “You have already seen the change in me, Bryna. Do you understand?”

  She did. When passions rode him hard, the color of his eyes slid to pitch.

  One large hand covered her hand and squeezed. “We will talk later in my home. You are not at all what I expected. The territorial goddess belongs to the Dark Chieftain, as he does to her. I thought you would know all this. But, it seems I must be the teacher instead of the student.”

  “I doona know what you mean. I am a slave.”

  He turned away from her without responding, accepting food from one of his tribesmen.

  Bryna frowned in thoughtful silence. What did he mean about being the teacher instead of the student? Was the goddess meant to teach him something? She knew nothing other than a slave’s survival.

  More dried food and cold water were being passed around.

  “Lady?” Edwin called quietly to her right.

  A large portion of food was placed in her lap. Bryna looked down at the chunks of spicy dried meat and black bread. She shook her head at Edwin and his generous offering. “Edwin, I canna eat all this.” She tried handing some of it back.

  The Dark Chieftain leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Do you not like the food, Bryna?”

  She turned to him. “It is not that. Only, I canna accept all this.”

  “To return it would be an insult to Edwin.”

  She turned back to Edwin. The youth had bowed his head.

  “My thanks, Edwin. I am indeed hungry.” She caught sight of a red blush creeping into his cheeks.

  “Lady.” He returned to his seat.

  Bryna turned back to Tynan. “I meant no insult.”

  “I know. Eat now for we have a long journey to make and I wish you to be strong.”

  She turned her attention to the food, her mouth already watering.

  Tynan wondered how many men she had helped escape the Evil One’s clutches. He inhaled her scent, a world of knowledge entering his body. She was not bled, a virgin faery, untouched by the land. Inconceivable, he mused. His fey senses reached out to her. Her woman’s courses drew near. He would wait until after her time before making his claim.

  Eating a stale cake, he took a mouthful of water to wash it down. His older cousin watched him with resentful eyes. Never would there be kinship there. Eamon’s envy consumed him. No, there would never be a kinship, but mayhap an enemy. He hoped not. He hoped that he was wrong. His gaze slid back to his faery waif.

  Bryna found a strange peace in the presence of these strong men. They did not scowl at her or call her Witcheyes. They instead called her “Lady,” for no reason that she could fathom but felt grateful for their gentle courtesy.

  She took another bite of the moist black bread and felt the heat of Eamon’s gaze. She shifted back, uncomfortable with his interest. Knowing very little about the ways of the illusive Tuatha Dé Dananns, her womanhood warned her to stay away from Eamon and not instigate a challenge between the men. Derina had told her that the men folk of Tynan’s tribe were highly competitive in their mating claims. Since she bore Tynan’s mark on her jaw, she could only reason that she belonged to him, at least for now.

  “We scout ahead.” Eamon spoke authoritatively into the silence. “The tribe elders wish to reclaim Kindred soon. They are intent upon it.”

  “If only the ancient feypaths could be found,” the youth Edwin concurred.

  Bryna stopped eating at the mention of the feypaths.

  “Desperation guides us.” Eamon grunted. “I have a distaste for the tribe elders’ decision.”

  “There are better ways to achieve our goals than a direct attack upon our enemy.” Tynan spoke to them all in a voice of calm leadership.

  “You have a plan, cousin?”

  Bryna felt her mouth go dry with Eamon’s impertinent tone. She had a distinct urge to slap him.

  “I will speak with our tribe elders first.” Tynan gestured to Edwin. “The feypaths exist lad and we will use them to regain what is rightfully ours.”

  Bryna knew that Tynan intended for her to show them the secret feypaths. She felt the eyes of the men move between them, their chieftain and her. In her stomach, the food began to turn to acid. The feypaths were not meant for human kind. She did not know how she knew this, but she did.

  “And what of her?” Eamon motioned in her direction, his cold blue eyes hard with desire.

  “ ‘Tis not your concern, Eamon,” Ian said in warning. “The maid belongs to our chieftain.”

  “Are your senses dulled, cousin,” Tynan growled, “that you doona recognize my mark?”

  Bryna could taste the man’s unspoken challenge in the currents of the morning air.

  “She is not bled, and is not handfasted.”

  All the men came to their feet in a single rush. “Stand back,” Tynan commanded. “Eamon challenges for the maid.”

  “I do!”

  Bryna climbed quickly to her feet. “Tynan, stop this.”

  “Protect her, Edwin.” He shoved her into the youth’s arms.

  Bryna found herself pulled out of harm’s way. Her mind raced on how to resolve the situation without violence, but before she could act Tynan’s large fist had connected with Eamon’s jaw, sending the taller man flying backwards into the dirt. He flipped his cousin to his stomach and jammed his knee into the man’s back. Yanking Eamon’s arms behind him, Tynan twisted his cousin’s wrists up behind his back.

  Bryna stood on shaking legs. She had lived around violence all her life, yet each encounter still unnerved her.

  Tynan leaned forward on his knee, snarling his warning so all could hear. “Doona question my mark on her again, Eamon. The maid is mine. Do you yield?”

  “Aye,” Eamon grumbled, “I yield.”

  “I canna hear you.”

  “Aye, Dark Chieftain. I yield your claim.”

  Tynan released Eamon’s arm and jumped to his feet. For a brief moment, Bryna met his gaze and then looked away.

  Tynan knew what she saw.

  The darkening in his eyes.

  The mating fire now raged in his blood from the challenge.

  Damn Eamon and his lust! In another place, he would claim Bryna as his prize. But not today; he must keep his focus and maintain control.

  “Ian, have the men make ready. We travel to the woodlands this day.”

  Reaching for Bryna, he guided her around Edwin. His young tribesman did a quick bow before rushing back to gather his belonging.

  “Tynan, you hurt me.”

  He eased his grip, but the need to claim her did not ease inside him. He steered her to the front of the cave. Yellow sunlight streamed through the thicket across the dirt floor onto their feet.

  He looked sightlessly into the vine’s under-growth, struggling to regain control of the tempest in his blood.

  “Tynan?”

  He pulled her into his arms, closed his eyes and rested his heated cheek upon the top of her silky head. He breathed in her intoxicating lavender fragrance, the compulsion riding him hard. If only she knew what his faery obligation demanded, what he needed from her.

  “T
ynan, what is wrong?”

  He knew she felt the strangeness in him.

  “Doona move away from me.” He held her tighter. Her shoulder pressed into his damp chest. “Bryna, I canna explain right now.”

  “Is it your geas?”

  His breath touched the top of her ear. “Stay with me.”

  She nodded under his chin, shifting closer to him rather than away. He needed to calm down or mate with her here and now, and that was not an option for him.

  He inhaled the scent of his honor-mark on her, destining her to be his faerymate, his goddess. She was going to be the death of him, if he did not get some relief from this fey coercion soon.

  CHAPTER 7

  LONG HOURS SLID BY SINCE they left the cave. Behind their lord, the men walked in single file to hide their numbers. Above them, a group of blackbirds flew in silence. Their orange-yellow beaks and eye rings shone in the sun’s setting light. Bryna watched them fly away, wistful for her own freedom.

  She followed behind young Edwin. They walked around a large stone circle flanked by decayed trees with black twisted trunks. In the center, three upright stones were set with a space between and capped with a horizontal stone. Bryna recognized the ancient structure as a dolmen. Some villagers believed treasure lay beneath these giant tombs and had ventured in search of them, never to return. From Derina’s teachings, she knew dolmens were guarded by spriggans. Spriggans were described as nasty elfin folk, if one believed in elfin folk. It was said that if one squinted their eyes just so — and Bryna tried it — one could see the tiny creature with its large head and puny shoulders.

  She shielded her eyes from the late sun and squinted harder.

  At one of the black twisted trunks, a shriveled old man with a large head shimmered into view. He wore a red velvet tunic with ruby buttons. A sinister smile curved white lips. He bowed his head to her and then hissed, “Goddess.”

  Bryna’s eyes widened in shock.

  “As pledged, only you I let see and hear me.”

  She turned quickly away only to find herself looking back over her shoulder, but the spriggan had disappeared.

  Raising her skirts, she hurried across limestone slabs, keeping pace with the line of men and putting distance between herself and the dolmen. Already her mind had rationalized the creature away.

  Another hour passed before her nerves had settled down and she felt comfortable enough to look about once again. Across the wild land, shadows of the past lingered in stone blocks and head-high bracken. Ruins and quaking bogs haunted the rocky countryside, places of long ago mysteries that she would have liked to explore, if she had been free.

  In the distance, buried in the afternoon’s peculiar white mist, the mystical faery woodlands glistened into view, treetops kissing a soft blue sky. Anticipation stirred in her blood. No one had ever seen the fey woodlands and lived to tell of it. It was a place of enchantment where music played in the air and massive white roses grew in impenetrable thorn thickets of silver and gold.

  Bryna dashed a wayward curl from her eye and blinked. The fey woodlands were still there, monarchs dwarfing all living creatures that came near.

  “My lord suffers the tuaicthe.” Edwin glanced over his shoulder at her.

  It took her a moment to respond. “What is the tuaicthe?”

  “ ‘Tis the anguished heart, my Lady.”

  She looked up ahead to where Tynan led his men. “He doona look anguished.”

  “The honor-mark burns him, my Lady.”

  Bryna took an extra step to walk abreast with Edwin and waited for him to continue.

  “The honor-mark is an ancient promise our faery brethren cast in the bloodline of our tribe’s true lord. We are the noble tribe, a spirit race belonging to the earth and lochs, to the breezes and sky, and to the goddess Dana, or Aine, as I hear the villagers call her.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “The honor-mark pledges our tribe’s chieftain to a faery mating. It is his geas. Every one-hundred years a mating must take place to maintain the pattern of continuity, harmony, trust, and kingship of the land.”

  “Kingship?” She touched her jaw reflexively. “What do you wish to know?” Tynan inquired tersely from behind her.

  “Sire, I . . .” Edwin stammered in apology. An apple red flush spotted his cheeks.

  “Walk on, Edwin,” Tynan ordered.

  “Lady.” Edwin bowed and then hurled himself forward.

  Bryna felt terrible and came to the youth’s defense. “Edwin did no wrong.”

  “He did not,” Tynan agreed softly. He motioned her forward. “Walk with me, Bryna.”

  She nodded and fell into step beside him. “Are the faery woodlands far ahead, Tynan?” She looked ahead at the groves of giant trees. Afternoon light shone through the silvery mist ahead of them.

  “ ‘Tis not far.” He took her arm and assisted her over a rocky outcropping. “We arrive by twilight.”

  “Faery time, how appropriate.”

  “Tired?” he asked.

  She shook her head. She would not admit to being tired, even if she were. A slave would never confess to something that could be perceived as weakness.

  “I only wonder when you plan to release me.”

  “Are you anxious to return to your Roman master, then?”

  Shadows seemed to come over his features, waiting for her response. She managed a slight smile. “Nay, I only miss Derina’s comfort and company.”

  He looked away, vowing to find some way to bring the ancient to the woodlands. “I can understand that. Bryna, I ask that you might consider my tribe as your new home. It is a good place and we are in need of more simplers.”

  “Healers?” she said with interest.

  “We call our healers simplers.”

  “I am not a slave, then?”

  “Nay, faery.”

  Mayhap Tynan’s people would look upon her differently than the Romans. “I will consider it.”

  “ ‘Tis all I ask.”

  They walked side by side for a short while before Bryna became aware of a growing tension in him. “Do you wish to speak more with me?” She looked up at his face.

  He nodded, but did not answer right away. “Edwin spoke of my honor-mark. It is a private concern, and I would prefer you ask your questions of me rather than another.”

  “I understand.”

  “If you are not comfortable asking me, Rose will answer.”

  “Rose?”

  “Rose is our lead simpler. She is very wise and will explain about our rituals. I would have you understand about our way of life.”

  “I honestly doona know what to think, Tynan. Your ways seem so different than my own.”

  “Then ask me, Bryna.”

  At once she felt uncomfortable, but decided knowing was better than not. “Is your honor-mark different than the mating bite?”

  “Aye,” he seemed to answer with difficulty. “The mating bite is a confirmation of life, freely given by a male and freely accepted by a female. It is a binding promise to mate.” He paused in his description. “The honor-mark belongs only to the chieftain of prophecy, Bryna. It is an ancient faery spell that flows in his blood, in my blood, from my ancestors.”

  She slowed their pace, Tynan’s tribesmen leaving them alone. “Can it be undone?”

  “Do you wish it undone?”

  “To be truthful, I doona know what I wish. I doona understand any of this, yet there is a deep reckoning inside me.”

  “Then let me tell you more of our ways so that you will better understand.”

  “I would like that.”

  He looked back to the path ahead. “Once in a great war, my tribe aided the faeries. In return for our help, they built a castle of stone above their faery fort that would always protect us.”

  “Kindred.”

  “Aye, Kindred,” he agreed softly. “The Faery Queen was a selfish creature and became besotted with my ancestor, a dark-haired chieftain. When he refused her attentions, s
he imposed a great geas upon him and his descendants to mate with a faery.” He turned to her. “Do you know what a geas is?”

  She nodded. “A spell of obligation.”

  “Aye, it is of obligation and of penance and so much more that I canna describe it. This geas bound our tribe to the faeries in trust and loyalty to the land. Every hundred years or so a male descendent of the chieftain must lay with a creature of twilight to conceive a child, thus maintaining the trust.”

  “You are faery born, then.” Bryna’s voice lowered in awe.

  “My father dinna observe his geas. He broke the promise by taking a mate within our tribe. I am more mortal than faery because of this.” His gaze took on a faraway look. “My father broke the trust because of his love for my mother. Our enemies then took Kindred and we became the hunted.”

  “What happened?”

  He looked back to the path, his voice roughened with emotion. “My father’s mind turned dark. He disappeared into the faery woodlands on a rain-soaked night many years ago. I have not seen him since.”

  “And your mother? What happened to her?”

  “She died when I was very young. I doona remember much of her except that she had dark hair like me. Rose raised me.”

  Bryna touched his arm, saddened by his loss. “I am sorry, Tynan.”

  They stopped walking and faced each other. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “Memories such as these best be forgotten.”

  “Not forgotten.” A flood of intensity glinted in his eyes. “I mean to fulfill the promise of my tribe, Bryna.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” he whispered, and then leaned forward and inhaled her.

  Bryna drew back. “Why do you always do that?”

  “It is our way. Your faery blood is well hidden.”

  “I am not faery.” The denial came out reflexively.

  “My body and geas say differently.”

  Bryna could not respond to that. She needed time to think of what he had told her. Gathering her skirts higher, she followed the path the men had taken.

  The land changed, reflecting the radiant twilight sky. All around her ribbons of gold and silver danced in the wind-scored hills, marking the woodland’s border of enchantment. The giant trees slipped in and out of faded colors and gray mist.