“Has it always been this way, Bryna?” Rose asked.
“Aye.” She tried not to sound so pitiful.
“Help her,” Tynan said firmly. He seemed to feel her pain as if it were his own.
Bryna clutched her bloated abdomen and shuddered through another round of cramping.
“Aile Niurin,” he growled, his arms holding her trembling body. She broke out in a cold sweat.
“Patience, Lordling,” the simpler said, gesturing toward the entranceway. “Get the milkwater from my home. ‘Tis more serious than I thought.”
Gently, he pulled away from her and disappeared out of the roundhouse. Bryna missed his support and heat, but he returned within moments.
Handing a brown leather bag to the simpler, he settled down once again behind her.
Rose reached into the first bag. “Watch me, Bryna. Bitter herbs and my milkwater will help your body do what it needs to do. Later I will show you our place of growing woman herbs.” As Bryna watched, the older woman crushed the bitter herbs from her first bag into the bag containing the milkwater.
“This is the remedy I used, and my mother before me. You should also not eat a day or two before your moon time. If you must eat, choose only the fruits.”
Bryna held her stomach and nodded once.
“Here now, drink slowly.”
With trembling hands, she reached for it, but Tynan took the bag from Rose and held it up to her lips.
“Drink, Bryna.”
Reaching for the bag’s lip, she pulled it to her mouth. She swallowed the slightly bitter liquid, slowly at first and then with more confidence as her trust and hope in Rose’s remedy grew.
“Many virgins have difficulty with their moon time.”
Bryna concentrated on swallowing the liquid and felt its presence in her pain-racked body almost immediately . . . releasing, soothing, calming.
Tynan brushed a stray curl from her dampened cheek. “Why does she suffer?”
Rose shrugged. “ ‘Tis the way of it, sometimes. I doona know. I’ve never seen it this bad before, a onesidedness. My herbs will help her.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“Get her with child soon.”
Bryna coughed at the simpler’s statement of the old wives tale. However, images of a mating with Tynan had already skirted her imagination. If she were not suffering so, no doubt the images would have been more vivid.
“How will that help, Rose?” Tynan demanded.
Bryna was not up for this discussion. “I wish to rest,” she whispered, touching his forearm. Closing her eyes, her head rolled back into his supporting shoulder. Warm relief began to flood her tortured womb.
“Bryna, it takes time for the body’s acceptance.” The simpler squeezed her chilled hand.
Bryna cracked her eyes open and looked upon the simpler with such heartfelt thanks that she thought she saw tears forming in the woman’s blue eyes.
“I feel better, Rose,” she murmured, deeply grateful. “Relax and let my remedy work. Do you know how to use your chieftain mate’s presence?”
Bryna shook her head. It was hard to think of Tynan as her mate, even though she had agreed to handfast with him.
The simpler guided Tynan’s large hand over her stomach.
Bryna pulled back.
“Easy, child,” Rose reassured. “Feel his warmth. Our males are so very warm.”
She watched Tynan’s long fingers instinctively settle over the area of pain on her lower left side.
“Relax back into him, Bryna.”
This day she did as she was told.
“That is it. Drink more. Let the milkwater work.” Tynan held the bag up to her and Bryna sipped at what was left in it.
“Lordling, Bryna is small inside and will always have trouble during this time.”
“He doona need to know,” Bryna grumbled.
“Aye, I do,” Tynan interrupted her. “You are my faerymate. ‘Tis my duty to care for you.”
How could she argue with that?
“Bryna, the pain shall become the whisper of the wind instead of a raging storm if you allow it. Acceptance of your faery blood, of your body, of who you are, only this will ease your pain, ease the one-siding.”
“One-siding?” Bryna echoed, understanding blooming inside her.
“The balance. Listen to your faery spirit. Listen, Bryna, and heal thyself.”
Bryna closed her eyes, her body had calmed, yet she remained apprehensive of what lived inside her, fearful of the knowing and of the change.
“Listen.” The simpler’s soothing words compelled her. “Doona fear. It is only Bryna, your faery self.”
The milkwater eased her body, a slowing and slackening within. She opened her heart and mind to the meadh, the balance, between worlds both mortal and faery.
Tears glistened down her cheek.
A young villager had once asked, what does it mean to be faery? Frightened by the question, she had remained stubbornly mute. Now, she acknowledged the living force of the land, a sacred vow of trust that had always echoed inside her.
Illuminating her soul.
A collective wisdom.
A harmonious knowledge.
“Bryna?”
“Hush, Lordling. Let her recognize what is within. Let her understand.”
It means to be free, Bryna thought in swift insight, to understand and share the world in its entirety.
To be a sister to the primordial whispers of the land . . .
To be a mother to the sacred lochs . . .
To exchange mortality for the divine energy, and in so doing, merge with the supernatural.
And in that one defining moment, she knew. She knew what it was to be faery.
So simple.
It meant to BELONG.
Perhaps it was the relief from the cramps that allowed her to see and hear and feel what had always been within her, compelling the acceptance in her heart and mind.
Perhaps it was this enchanted place of mist and woods.
Perhaps it was the powerful chieftain that held her so tenderly in his arms.
She did not know.
Did not care.
Enlightenment filled her being.
Visions of small, willowy folk, barely knee high, floated in her mind, forgotten memories pushed aside long ago. They were beautiful, with pale and delicate complexions. Silver bells tinkled on their heads. Some sprouted wings of silver, diamonds, and gold. Some wore lace, velvet, or satin.
But she was not so much like them, as something more than they were. Something still repressed, still entangled in darkness and fear in a small corner of her being. She was afraid to take that final step and look. For now, it was enough that she knew.
“Bryna?” her chieftain mate whispered hoarsely, anxious for her.
She squeezed his arm, turning her face into his corded neck. His chin lowered to her, brushing her temple, his arms holding her close.
“I am here,” he said quietly. “You are not alone.” She breathed in the scent of him, knowing she would never be truly alone again. Her journey was about to begin. She looked at the simpler through her lashes. “My thanks. I begin to see.”
“It will take time.”
“I know.” Bryna snuggled deeper into Tynan’s arms. “My work is done here. I will take my leave of you now.” The simpler rose to her feet.
“My thanks, Rose,” Tynan said with gentle gravity. “Delay the handfasting ceremony until my faerymate feels better.”
“I will speak with the elders on you behalf, Lordling. Bryna, let our chieftain’s strength hold you while my herbs and milkwater balance your body.”
“Rose.” She could never thank this wise woman enough.
“I know, rest now.”
Bryna watched the simpler leave.
“I am here for as long as you need me,” Tynan murmured against her temple.
“I know.” She closed her eyes.
The massive cramping ebbed to small whisp
ers as the simpler had promised. The tightness fled her body, leaving a deep exhaustion. She felt the blood flow freely from her womb and she knew the imbalance in her no longer existed.
The simpler’s bitter herbs and milkwater soothed her body, but the awakening and recognition of her inner self was her own.
She was faery bred.
The pain would never come again.
Throughout the day, the Dark Chieftain of Tuatha Dé Danann held her and Bryna listened to her body and slept in his warm embrace.
Shades of a pink twilight filtered into Tynan’s home, marking the day’s passing into twilight. Coolness kissed the air. She had slept the day away tucked safely in Tynan’s arms. She could still feel his warmth about her and smell his scent.
Bryna sat up, feeling rested. She drank the rest of the milkwater and noticed a new milkwater bag lay at the foot of the pelts along with a pink rock. Hawk.
She smiled, listening to this new inner peace and harmony of her body. She had not dreamed of the golden territorial goddess, but of light and contentment. Peacefulness settled over her. For the first time in her life, she felt almost whole.
Bryna rose from the bed with a new sense of self. She attended to her personal needs, taking great joy in the washing of her hair and body. Within her, there remained only a faint aching whisper in her womb to remind her of her woman’s monthly pain. She thanked the mother goddess for her patience with her.
Donning the green gown once again, she braided her damp hair into a single braid, satisfied that she looked presentable. With a happy heart, Bryna turned and stumbled into a wide male chest. She stared up at a scarred chin.
“Eamon.”
Blue eyes stared down at her with an animal’s hunger.
“You bleed,” he said icily.
“You should not be here.” She stepped back but he grabbed her hard, his demanding mouth covering her own.
She gagged at the vile taste of his kiss and bit down on his lip, gaining her release. But it was short lived.
He grabbed her again and dragged her back into the roundhouse.
Bryna pummeled his chest. “Let me go, Eamon.”
His hold tightened hurtfully. “Your moon time is unfortunate, Bryna. But it will not stop me. I want what is mine.”
Bryna pushed against him. He smelled of stale sweat and lust and she wanted no part of him.
He chuckled at her attempts for escape. Changing tactics, she stomped on his foot.
“Stop this.” He shook her. “You are faery bred and still he does not claim you.”
She glared up at him through angry tears.
“My cousin is a fool. Were I the ancient liege you would have felt my thrusts between your white thighs immediately.”
Dread slowly began to replace the anger.
“He does not care for you.” He held her face in a hard grip. “If he cared, he’d voice his claim. Instead, he leaves you open for challenge, Bryna.”
Bryna blinked. Tynan cared for her, did he not? He would not have asked her to handfast with him if he did not care for her. He would not have held her with such gentleness yesterday when she was in such pain.
Eamon pulled her around and pressed his palm against her lower stomach.
“Nay, Eamon,” Bryna cried, trying to push his hand away.
“It is said taking a woman during her moon time weakens a man. But I dare not wait.”
Bryna prayed that Tynan would return before Eamon raped her. He jerked her head back, his nose pressed to her jaw.
“He has marked you again, yet still there is no claim. Does he think that his mark will stop me from taking what is rightfully mine? I should have been the chieftain.”
Bryna ceased struggling as a black rage swept over her senses. Tynan.
“That is better, my winsome faery,” Eamon said, thinking her submissive. “Tonight I will lay my seed in your womb and make my claim.”
“I have already claimed her, Eamon.”
Eamon jerked around, taking her with him.
“Are you all right?” Tynan asked.
She gave a curt nod. “I am unhurt.”
He turned back to her attacker.
“Eamon, you know better than anyone that I will not tolerate another’s claim on her. Release her now or I will be forced to kill you, cousin.”
“You did not voice the faery honor-mark claim. I have right of challenge.”
Tynan watched Eamon pull Bryna against his chest. The man’s thick forearm pressed into her delicate neck.
He burned with fury that his cousin would dare touch what belonged to him.
Suddenly, footfalls filled the silence and Tynan recognized the sounds of the tribe elders. They were coming to his roundhouse. He fingered the dagger at his waist, deciding to end this farce here and now.
Eamon growled out his challenge. “I, Eamon of the Tuatha Dé Danann, challenge . . . ugh!”
Tynan launched himself at Eamon. Pinning his blade to his cousin’s neck, he jerked him back, forcing Bryna’s release.
“LORD TYNAN!” Dafyd bellowed at the entrance, Rose by his side. The leader of the tribe elders pounded the blunt end of his hazelwood walking stick into the ground. “Release Eamon, I say.”
“Not yet, Dafyd. We have unfinished matters to discuss.”
“Release him and let us settle this dispute once and for all.”
Though he thought better of it, Tynan shoved Eamon away from him and returned his dagger to the sheath at his waist. To his right, Bryna stood pale but resilient.
“Much better,” the elder huffed. “Faery child, come here, my fey senses are getting old.”
Tynan nodded for her to go.
She stepped forward and stood proudly before the gaunt elder.
“I am Dafyd, leader of the tribe elders.”
“I am Bryna.”
“I know, faery child.”
“Honor-marked twice, my husband,” the simpler said and Tynan suspected some foul pretense afoot.
“I know, wife.” Dafyd straightened, leaning hard on his walking stick. “It is as you said, and I am not that old that I canna tell a twice given honor-mark. Our lord has honor-marked the maid once before the handfasting approval and then once after. Is that not right, Lord Tynan?”
“It is right.”
The elder nodded and turned his attention back to Bryna. “Let me see the honor-mark, Bryna.” His callused fingers inspected her jaw and out of the corner of his eye, Tynan saw Eamon flash a triumphant smile.
“Did my young warriors hurt you?” the elder inquired. “You look about to faint.”
Tynan muttered an oath, knowing the reason for her sudden pallor. He retrieved the milkwater bag.
“Nay, they did not hurt me,” she whispered.
Without asking, he put the bag under her nose and ordered her to drink.
With trembling fingers, she took the bag but did not move to drink.
“Dafyd, give us a moment.” Tynan made the request in a low tone and the elder nodded in understanding.
He gently pulled Bryna aside. Taking the brown bag from her hands, he held it to her lips.
“Drink,” he whispered, using his body to block out the others. “They will wait.”
She drank for him, eyes closed, auburn lashes splayed against white cheeks.
“Are you in pain?” he asked softly.
She wiped her mouth and shook her head. “Nay, Tynan. I am fine.”
“Keep the bag with you,” he ordered. Moving back, he gestured for the elder to continue.
“Bryna, do you feel well enough to answer my questions?”
“I do.”
The elder leaned on his walking stick. “Did Lord Tynan truly honor-mark you the first time or is this mark a result of the Evil One’s magic? Doona glance at our chieftain for your answer, faery child. Tell me your feelings.”
“The first honor-mark is not true to my way of thinking.”
“Why is that?”
“The Dark Chieftain was
spellbound.”
“Ah,” the elder said with a single nod.
“ENOUGH!” Tynan said loudly, startling everyone. He had had enough and stepped forward to make his claim. “I honor-marked Bryna. She is mine by ancient promise. I am bound as she is bound. To twilight. To honor. To land.”
“Nay, ‘tis too late for the claim! My challenge stands,” Eamon bellowed his objection.
“Oh, shut up,” the simpler snapped in annoyance.
“Quiet!” Dafyd ordered loudly. “I have no choice. The claim has come after the challenge.”
“Dafyd,” Tynan said in warning.
“The challenge stands, Lord Tynan. Your request for handfasting must wait until after the challenge. That is, if you accept?”
“I accept Eamon’s challenge,” Tynan growled, wanting to punch his cousin in the face.
“And what of the promise?”
Tynan could not believe the elder dared to remind him of his vow. “If our faery brethren doona accept Bryna as my faerymate, I will lay with one of their choosing.”
“And what of the maid Bryna?”
Tynan locked gazes with the older man. “I will free her to make her own choice,” he replied tightly.
The elder nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer.
“Is this agreeable to you, Bryna?” he asked.
The simpler went and stood by his faerymate’s side as he could not.
“I accept,” she whispered and with that, Tynan felt the fire of battle begin to warm his blood.
“Let the challenge begin.” Dafyd turned and limped out of the roundhouse. “Wife, bring the maid and let the males prepare.”
CHAPTER 10
ON A SMALL HILLTOP AT the crossroads and beyond the shelter of the faery woodlands, a bonfire roared to life in the black, predawn sky. A spiritual force unto itself, it possessed both destructiveness and cleansing. Blue dancing flames spiked high, and then splintered red sparks into the chilled air.
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