“I honor-marked Bryna of Loch Gur,” his voice rang out. “She is mine by ancient promise. I am bound as she is bound. To twilight. To honor. To land.”
With arms raised, the men of the faery tribe roared their approval.
“The claim is made,” Rose said beside her.
In relief, Bryna clutched the red cloak about her. She belonged to him now. Joy filled her heart until she looked up. A half-naked, sweaty, blue-stained savage turned from the tribe elders and started walking in her direction.
“Rose?” Bryna felt her mouth go dry.
“Be gentle with him, Bryna.” The simpler picked up her cloak and started walking away.
Bryna flashed her a look of disbelief. “Be gentle with him?”
He looked wild to her. His black hair lifted and spread out behind him. The blue runic symbols on his chest and arms were no longer recognizable, for he gleamed with sweat.
Bryna held still when he stopped in front of her. His fierce scowl scattered the remaining women, leaving them alone on this side of the bonfire.
An instinct of self-preservation whispered for her to lower her eyes and step back, a familiar reaction, a slave’s response. One she would not do.
Then surprisingly, he did what she would not. Lids lowering, his gaze dropped to the ground in supplication. He held out his hand, palm open, a male’s simple offering.
“Will you handfast with me, faery?” he asked in a low voice laced with need.
Bryna looked down at his hand, calloused and cleaned of Eamon’s blood. She became aware of the sudden silence around them. It was as if the land waited, poised for her decision.
Without hesitation, she slid her hand into his much larger one.
“Aye, Tynan,” she whispered. “A trial-marriage I consent to.”
His gaze lifted, a dark compelling triumph glittered there, and Bryna could only smile.
Strong fingers closed around her hand, a forever vow of belonging.
Three bells clanged on the other side of the fire and then chaos and shouts erupted.
Bryna startled and looked around. “What is hap-pening?”
“It is time to gather around the sacred circle of stones where the handfasting ceremony shall take place.”
“Now? I thought we would have more time.”
“Walk with me, faery.” He guided her forward, around the bonfire. “We must enter the sacred circle from the east, the direction of sunrise and growth.”
On the east end, his tribe waited around the large circle of stones and crystal rock. Maidens dressed in robes of white tossed red rose petals along the perimeter of the stone circle. Candles were lit to mark the four cardinal directions.
“Do we begin the handfasting ceremony now?” He led her once around the circle and then entered it from the east.
“Aye, ‘tis the beginning of it.”
“What is required of me?” Bryna held the red cloak closed under her chin.
“To stand by my side and answer truthfully.” Warm hands on her shoulders guided her to the center of the circle.
In front of them, Hawk placed a wooden altar. Upon the surface rested a silver knife, red cord, a small silver box, and a trowel.
Bryna looked at the trowel. She did not understand any of this, but was willing to learn.
Dafyd rang the bell three more times and Bryna supposed that it was to mark the beginning of the ceremony. Giving the bell to another, the elder entered the circle, faced them and began the hand-fasting blessing.
“Let us begin in the east. Here we ask for the blessings of the element of Air, which brings truth, wisdom, and vision. May East and Air bless Tynan and Bryna throughout their lives.”
“Now, we turn to the south. Here we ask for the blessings of the element of Fire, home of passion, pleasure, joy, and happiness. May South and Fire bless Tynan and Bryna throughout their lives.”
“Now, let us turn to the west. Here we ask for the blessings of the element of Water, bringing tranquility, peace, emotion, and serenity. May West and Water bless Tynan and Bryna throughout their lives.”
“Now, we turn to the north, where the element of Earth resides, deeply grounded in strength, comfort, and support. May North and Earth bless Tynan and
Bryna throughout their lives.”
“And in the Center and all around us, above and below, resides the Spirit who brings blessings of love, magic, friendship, and community. May the Spirit of all things divine join us and bless Tynan and Bryna on this sacred day.”
Bryna faced Tynan.
“Bryna, let go of the cloak and take my hands,” he whispered.
She slipped her hands in his, allowing the cloak to part and hint at the gown.
“Do any here challenge this joining?” the elder leader asked, and made a big show of looking around, so much so that Bryna fought back a giggle.
“Then, let us begin the joining,” he said, and faced them once more.
“Tynan, do you come of your own free will?”
“I do.”
“Bryna, do you come of your own free will?”
“I do,” she replied softly.
“Then state your vows.”
Bryna did not know what to say.
Tynan squeezed her hands. “Say these words with me, faerymate.”
She nodded, grateful to him.
“We commit ourselves to be with each other in joy and in adversity.”
Bryna repeated his words.
“In wholeness and brokenness.”
“In wholeness and brokenness,” she echoed, feeling her world shift.
“In peace and turmoil.”
“In peace and turmoil,” she repeated. This all felt frighteningly permanent to her.
“Living together faithfully all our days.” Tynan’s voice carried through the air. “May the Gods and Goddesses give us the strength to keep these vows. So be it.”
She repeated the final phrase.
The elder stepped forward and placed a red cord over and around their right hands.
“Red symbolizes life and a handfasting commitment for one year and a day,” the elder said. “If our faery brethren approve, you may return and repeat the vows with the cord tightly knotted to show a permanent joining. If not, the trial-marriage ends and you must go your separate ways.”
He bowed over the red cord, said a prayer, and then removed it, returning it to the altar. Picking up the small knife, he handed it to Tynan.
Tynan held the knife in his right hand. She watched him cut one of her curls and place it in the silver box the elder held.
He then held the knife in an open palm for her to take. Bryna took the knife and followed his actions. She cut a thick lock of Tynan’s black hair and placed it in the silver box over her own flame-colored curl.
The elder closed the silver box. “For the future.” He returned the box to the altar.
Tynan took both her hands in his again.
“Be understanding and patient with each other,” the elder murmured, backing away. “Be free in the giving of affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the Gods and Goddesses be with you.” He stepped out of the circle.
Tynan picked up the silver box and handed it to her.
“Is the ceremony over?” she inquired.
“Not yet. Together we must bury the silver box in the center of the circle to safeguard our future. Place your right hand over mine.” He picked up the trowel.
Bryna did as instructed and leaned forward with him.
He did all the work and dug a small hole. Together they placed the silver box in the hole and covered it beneath a mound of dirt.
From outside the circle, the elder called out, “The circle is open but unbroken. May the peace of the Old Ones go in our hearts. They are handfasted.”
The bell rang three times. “Faerymate, you are mine.”
“For a year and a day,” Bryna replied.
Tynan smiled at her answer, a grin of
devilment. “For a year and a day. Come, Bryna.” He led her out of the circle. “We must walk around the circle once before we greet our people.”
Our people? It sounded good to her ears.
“It is time to feast and celebrate!” Dafyd raised his stick high. “Our chieftain has found his faerymate.”
A loud, joyous roar rose in the morning air.
Finally able to excuse herself, Bryna headed for Tynan’s roundhouse, intent upon finding a brooch from her many gifts to hold the infernal cloak closed. Her fingers were aching.
She only made it to the top of the hill.
“Bryna?”
She stopped, the cloak slipping off one bare shoulder.
“Tynan, I need to get a brooch.”
He came to her and reached for the cloak, pulling it aside.
“Let me see what you hide.”
He pulled the cloak away and Bryna saw the faery darkness come into his gaze.
“I always knew you were beautiful.” He tossed the cloak behind him and touched the material at her waist. “What is this made of?”
Bryna shrugged, watching his slow perusal. “I doona know. ‘Tis a fey gift from your brethren.”
“Our brethren,” he corrected, taking her hand and pulling her forward. He drew her down the rolling hill and back through the cluster of roundhouses.
Above their heads, thunder rumbled. Lightning sliced through the sky, warming her blood with anticipation and a maiden’s trepidation. Stumbling on the gown’s hem, she reached down to draw up its length and felt the bodice slip.
“Aile Niurin,” he choked beside her.
Bryna blinked at his expletive and straightened quickly, holding the gaping bodice to her breast.
She met his darkening gaze.
Tynan felt the very essence of his soul yearning so intensely that he thought the pores of his skin would bleed if she denied him. He wanted to take her now, in this moment. With strength of will that had seen him through many battles, he struggled to fight the compulsion and gently guided her to his roundhouse ahead.
A light rain began to fall on his heated flesh, sipping at his strength. It was as if the faeries sought to weaken his resolve. He stepped into his home behind her, a creature slipping into lust and darkness.
“You are lovely, Bryna.”
She stepped back from him, an uncertainty that he quickly took note of.
“Lovely like the storms that you bring, all fey and clean.”
Outside, the afternoon had turned dark gray with an unnatural suddenness. He tilted his head toward the howling winds.
“You bring the rain storm to me, faery? To cool my geas?”
“I canna control storms, Tynan.”
“You control more than storms, Bryna of Loch Gur. You control me.”
“Why do you look at me that way?”
“I need to end this fey madness,” he said in vehemence, taking a step toward her.
She flinched from him and immediately Tynan stilled, his eyes searching, then dropping to the ground.
“I am not a beast,” he muttered, and moved away from her. “I will not be a beast.” He looked up slowly, seeing alarm in the silver of her eyes, but he could also see awareness and desire. She waited upon him, a creature of purity and innocence.
“I will not force you, Bryna.” Tynan shut his eyes and dropped down heavily to his knees.
“I will not force her,” he called to the stormy skies above, compulsion changing to fury. “Do you hear me? I will not force her.”
“Tynan, please . . .”
He opened his eyes. Never had he looked upon such beauty, or ever felt such desire. She was ethereal and mortal to him, faery spirit and warm flesh. He looked down at his hands and recoiled. “I canna do this.” He had to wait for his faery brethren’s approval. Pain could be endured. The handfasting had been meant to keep her safely in his home and under his care. Never was it meant for mating. Never!
He knew he risked his own sanity by denying the compulsion to take her. He no longer cared. A new sea of pain raked his body. Tynan flung back his head and roared his rage, a howling of misery, a wounded animal fallen in capture.
He welcomed the icy shroud of night.
Welcomed the silent darkness engulfing him . . .
Welcomed the oblivion…
She touched him, a bright light staying his darkness.
It was enough to stop his journey into madness.
He opened his eyes and met her gaze before looking away.
“Tynan?” Bryna knelt before him, terrified to her very core. Black ribbons of hair clung from the sweat at his temples down his chest and arms and back.
“Look at me,” she said, hoping desperately that he would obey her.
His nostrils flared, sucking in the moist air.
Slowly, he met her eyes. Dark sensual magic held her. She felt like she was looking in upon a sea of misery.
“This is your geas?”
He nodded slowly, a stranger looking upon her with Tynan’s eyes. Reaching up, she tangled her fingers in the hair at his temples. To her horror, a blood red tear gathered and fell down his cheek.
“I am faery, Tynan. Your body recognized what I am before I did. Mayhap your territorial goddess can forgive me, for I can no longer bear witness to your pain. Claim me, as is your right.”
His lips parted in a harsh breath.
“Claim me,” she said more softly. “Ease this torment that drives you to madness.”
“Be certain.” His haunted gaze searched her face. “There is no going back once I touch you.”
Bryna prayed the goddess of her dreams would understand and forgive her. “I am,” she replied.
“Forgive me,” Tynan said, and his mouth clamped over hers in claim, demanding her compliance, forcing her back upon the cold ground.
She clutched at his shoulders.
“Daoine Sidhe,” he breathed fiercely against her lips. “You are mine.”
The last vestiges of control were gone now.
He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the back of his roundhouse. They fell together on the bed. Around them, the air crackled with humidity and the rainstorm’s windy fury.
He shifted above her and stripped off his sweat-stained breeches.
“Kiss me, faery.” Hunger pulsed through his blood. “Let me taste your magic.”
His mouth took hers while the winds bayed outside and rain poured from the dark sky, pummeling the roundhouse.
His hands stroked her body, memorizing every delicious curve and hollow. At her hip, Tynan grasped the delicate red fabric that seemed spun of faery webs. It pulsed in his hand, a tingling sensation of heat and ice. Blue wisps of light danced behind his eyes and then the air stirred. His hand came away, taking the enchanted gown with it.
Tynan broke the heated kiss and glanced down. The gown floated to her side, leaving her gloriously naked before him.
Bryna felt the cool air against her skin. Suddenly frightened, she pushed against his chest. His lips settled over her swollen mouth in response. His tongue thrust in, demanding her surrender and taking possession.
Callused hands found the weight of her breasts and kneaded the silken flesh. Fingers teased her nipples into hurtful peaks and then he broke the kiss, his lips blazing a moist trail down her throat.
Flicking his tongue out, Tynan stroked the satiny pink nipple and drew it hungrily into his mouth, suckling her.
Her shocked cry rippled through him, fueling his compulsion and lust. He cupped her other breast.
Bryna closed her eyes in unbelievable pleasure. Her hands tangled in a waterfall of black hair, holding him to her, wanting more. Heat licked at her breasts and she writhed under him in chaotic desire.
He pinned her slender hips to the white pelts with his thigh. His left hand released her breast and skimmed down the curve of her stomach to her auburn down. One finger delved into her swollen petals and Bryna gasped at the burning tightness.
He stroked
her there, a terrible yearning pouring into her womb. She pushed down against his hand, wanting.
He shifted, pulling his hand away and settling his hips between her thighs.
“Take me,” he rasped, and Bryna felt his heavy arousal pressing into that secret place.
With one quick thrust, he buried himself deep in her velvet sheath, breaching her innocence. She cried out in surprise and momentary pain . . .
Tynan did not hear her.
His geas had triggered a bestial response in him. Waves of lust began to beat at his body.
Lost in sensations he could not control, he thrust harder into her sheath, her body yielding to his demands. Urgency flared, unleashing the blaze low in his belly. It consumed him, muscles bunching, wet, tight, deeper and deeper, until . . .
He flung his head back in ecstasy.
His body exploded, pleasure so intense he could not breathe while his seed pumped into her faery womb.
The compulsion released him.
The fey conception had been made.
Awareness flooded him instantaneously.
Against his chest, soft sobs were muffled, piercing his soul.
“Hush, faery,” he soothed, kissing her tear-stained face, guilt riding him hard. He caressed her trembling body with calming strokes.
She tried to shift out from under him.
“Bryna, stay with me.” He kissed her throat and collarbone.
“Nay, Tynan.”
The anguish in her voice tore through him.
Small hands pushed at his chest.
He kissed her ear, tasting the delicate salty shell. “For you, faery.” He moved his hips, his body already hardening by design, a promise kept in the aftermath of the compulsion. Slow, sultry, continuous strokes meant for her pleasure alone.
Startled, she looked up at him.
“Your pleasure,” he murmured.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and he captured them with his tongue. “Feel me inside you.”
She did. Heat began to spread through her, replacing the discomfort that came before. A tender throbbing began in her womb, a different blooming this time.
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