“Aye,” he whispered roughly, his body moving above hers. “For you, Bryna. The compulsion is over.”
His hand cradled her head. He kissed her, coaxing her mouth open to accept his gentle invasion. His warm tongue stroked a response from her while his manhood bore longer and deeper into her womb.
She whimpered, rocking under him, struggling to match his steady rhythm.
“Please Tynan, I need…” She spread her legs wider, aching for more. His hips slowed, grinding deeper inside her moist heat, prolonging it, making her . . .
Bryna gasped. Pleasure and brilliance seared through her body, through her blood. He pumped into her, her hands catching at his sweaty shoulders. She writhed in heat and ecstasy unlike any sensation she had ever felt before.
Tynan flung back his head and roared in triumph.
She was his.
Belonging only to him.
Finally.
CHAPTER 11
GRAYNESS EVAPORATED INTO A NIGHT quenched with low hanging stars.
Tynan awoke with a sense of harmony unlike any he had ever known. It settled inside him, a gathering of tranquility and calm, of mornings drenched in dew, of nights caressed with moonbeams, of all things that peace can and should be.
He listened to the echo of the new quiet and silently thanked the mother goddess for his faerymate. Outside, the rain-soaked land slumbered serenely within the cool eve.
They had slept and made love throughout the rainy afternoon.
A myriad of white candles burned low on the trestle table. Yellow flames flickered, creating shadows upon the walls. Wax dripped into tiny, irregular pools, spreading outward.
Tynan closed his eyes in contentment. His beautiful, naked faery lay sprawled on top of him. Her face was nestled in the curve of his neck, full breasts crushed to his side, a silken arm and leg thrown over him in complete abandon.
He caressed her lower back with slow, steady strokes, marveling at the smooth texture of her skin beneath his fingertips.
Brushing her forehead with his lips, he inhaled her fragrance. The scents of their mating sweat lingered. He took it deep in his lungs and felt himself harden with the memory of her unearthly passion, rapture beyond anything experienced except, perhaps, only in dreams.
She fulfilled him in all ways.
They would do well together.
Tenderly, he brushed a stray curl from her flushed cheek.
Her breathing quickened, a sign of awakening. He felt the delicate flutter of lashes against his neck and slowly she pulled back to look at him.
“Faery,” he murmured, seeing how she searched his face.
“The blackness is gone, Tynan. You are at peace?”
“Aye, forevermore.” He looked in awe upon the swirling grays and silver threads in her eyes. Her reddened lips were slightly swollen from the force of his kisses. Auburn lashes, tipped with gold, fluttered down, hiding her thoughts.
For a moment, guilt surged in him, raw and painful, a spear wound in the heart. He’d taken her innocence, an animal locked in lust.
She must have seen it in his face, for she touched his cheek.
“Nay, Tynan. ‘Tis the way of a virgin mating. Derina told me of this first time pain. I wanted you, guilt has no place here.”
“Bryna, my heart.” His fingers stroked her back in a long caress. “If given a choice, know that I would have chosen you for my goddess mate.”
Light and warmth ebbed from her eyes. “If given a choice, I would have chosen you too.” She looked away. Her lips parted, then closed without a sound. Inhaling shakily, she pulled away and sat up.
Tynan supported himself on his elbow. “Bryna, talk to me. Whatever this is, this dread that leeches color from your skin, I’ll make it right.”
“You canna make it right. Only I can, Tynan.” Bryna knew this all too well. With her growing awareness of her faery spirit, she understood things on a level beyond mortality.
The land whispered and she heard.
A link of profound longing pulsed, of a union forbidden and of a territorial goddess that waited, held captive in a dank tomb.
“I dream, Tynan.”
“What do you dream?”
She looked up at him, this naked faery king enticed into a mortal world. Confusion glittered within the gold shards in his amethyst eyes; confusion and suspicion.
“You must listen to what I have to say.”
He shifted on his hip. The pelts slipped down his body, revealing the hard planes of a smooth chest, and a rippling stomach. A stream of dark hair flowed down from his navel and disappeared beneath the furs. Bryna knew the dark nest of pleasure at the end, knew the surge and feel of him between her thighs.
“I will listen,” he murmured.
“For many months now I have dreamed of a golden territorial goddess with white lace wings. At first, she kneels in a glade beside a black rain pool. In her hand, she crushes a pink flower, a sign of her displeasure with me.”
“With you?”
“Aye, with me.”
“Go on.”
“In the glade, bars of red fire sprout from the land and lock her in a cage of night. I feel her surprise and rage. She is confined against her will, Tynan.”
He said not a word and Bryna felt a sense of doom seeping into her soul.
“You are the Dark Chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danann.” She paused to gather her courage. “The ancient lord of Kindred destined to restore loyalty and bounty to the land who must . . .”
“I know this. Tell me of what bothers you.”
Bryna clutched the pelts to her breasts. “You must mate with the territorial goddess, Tynan. I am not she. The golden one in my dreams is your true mate.”
She met his gaze and then looked away.
Tynan stilled.
Silence fell in dark waves about him.
He did not answer right away.
His heart and body disagreed with her declaration.
She was his territorial goddess.
He could not feel this way for another.
“You are of faery,” he stated firmly and with control.
“I am of faery. I see and feel of things you canna imagine. But I am not your territorial goddess, Tynan.”
“Why did you agree to handfast with me?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “To stop your suffering. For your need I handfasted with you, and for my own need as well.”
Tynan rose slowly from their bed and went to the roundhouse’s entrance to stare out. His body vibrated with tension, gone was the peace that saturated his heart only moments before. He looked up. Stars lit the night sky.
“How can you not be my territorial goddess when my body feels sated and whole?”
“I doona know. Mayhap you responded to my faery blood.”
Tynan could not imagine a lifetime without her, sharing the joys of living, bearing his sons and daughters. How could something that feels right be wrong?
“How do you know you are not my goddess?” he demanded, glaring back at her. “You cried out your pleasure in my arms and the storm winked out, leaving only the stars. The night approves of our joining.” He gestured outside. “The air approves.” He pointed to the ground. “The land pulses with joy beneath my feet.”
He watched her. Naked beneath his pelts, she looked small and vulnerable, a wee girl, unsure in her lover’s bed.
“How can you not be my goddess?” he demanded. She shook her head.
“Please explain it to me.”
“I canna explain it. ‘Tis a shimmering that fills the emptiness inside me. Why would the golden goddess come to me in my dreams?”
“What does your faery spirit say? What does the golden goddess say?” he asked very softly. “I must know.”
“Tynan,” she began shakily, then stopped.
“What does she say to you?”
“She has never spoken to me, only looked upon me with eyes of liquid amber. Her tresses are of pale sunlight and her wings are of delicate la
ce.”
“I care not what she looks like.” He took a step back into his roundhouse. “You are uncertain, Bryna.”
“I am not. She is your territorial goddess.”
He looked away and did not question her further.
She was faery bred, attuned to the land, loch and sky. She knew.
But why did his body and blood recognize Bryna as his territorial goddess?
Why did calm replace the torment of his geas? Somewhere a mistake had been made.
He turned back to the crisp, dark night. Outside, the thicket of thorns beside his roundhouse glimmered silver in the moonlight. A humid breeze rustled the entrance flap of animal skin beside his shoulder. In silent fury, he cursed the first Faery Queen that had forced his ancestor to take a faery mate.
“She is confined at Kindred, I think,” Bryna spoke from behind him, “with the other faeries.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Aye, I am.”
He waited for her to say something more, but she did not. He would not forswear the promise, nor would he give Bryna up. If the territorial goddess was among the imprisoned faeries, so be it. She would not be his goddess. He had made his claim.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
His faerymate would not look at him. Her head bowed, burnished gold curls tumbled in disarray about her pale shoulders.
He ached to hold her.
Tynan crushed down the need and focused.
No longer dazed by the fey compulsion, a plan to reclaim his future quickly took form in his mind.
“Bryna, can you tell me about the feypaths? Is there a marker of some kind to show their location?”
She seemed to grow paler, cold with certainty that he would now set her aside. She looked up at him, her eyes dull and bruised.
“There is a marker for them and you touched it in the dungeon, remember?” she prodded gently.
He thought back a moment, feeling the remembered sensation of it in his hands. “A rock smooth to the touch and shaped in a half-moon?”
“Aye, the half-moon rock feels smooth to the hand. It looks like a dark purple crystal when cleaned. Sometimes, if you walk by it at just the right moment, a blue-white light can be seen. My teacher calls the fey light moonbeams.”
“Do you know the location of the half-moon rocks?”
“I know only a few but they exist along the storm swept cliffs, in caves hidden by bracken, and in secret places along the deserted moors. All lead to the ancient feypaths beneath the land.”
He nodded, turning away from her to stare out into the night. “How did you come to know of the feypaths? The knowledge was lost to my people long ago.”
“Derina showed me.”
“The old druidess with no eyes? She sees more than most men.”
“Aye. She knows of many things, but I doona know how she knows of them.”
He nodded. Someday he would talk to this druidess and find out how she knew of things belonging only to his people. For now though, he must turn his mind toward what lay before him. “Bryna, the time has come for me to retake Kindred. There is much preparation to be done. I must leave for a few days and make ready.”
“I understand. What has been will never be again.”
He looked back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly at her down turned face. “This is not over between us, faery.”
Tynan left, welcoming the embrace of the dark night. He headed for the woodland’s icy stream.
CHAPTER 12
NIGHT FELL UPON THE LAND and the full moon rose in shades of buttery yellow that called to the nocturnal creatures in silky whispers.
Tynan strode quietly into the woodlands, dressed in black. In his right hand, he carried his best battle weapon. The sword was well oiled, the iron blade reflecting like a still pool of rainwater. The blood groove, down the center, had been made exact and true to catch the enemy’s blood. In his left hand, he held his shield. In the metal were the etched runes in the language of his faery brethren, a blessing of protection and strength.
With these in hand, he strode forward, his heart heavy in his chest.
Across his path spilled the glow of the moon and the long shadows of the massive tree trunks of the ancient oaks. Three gray wolves studied him from behind a grouping of fine-grained yew trees. Their amber eyes glittered with enhanced intelligence.
“Be at rest, I come to speak to our brethren and do not breach your territory.” It was a strange thing that he did not fear the predators of the woodlands. They were faery bred, like him, like the other creatures that made this place their home.
The sweet, seductive call of the night filled his senses with longing — for her, still.
Two days had passed since leaving her bed.
Two days since he had felt the rapid beat of her pulse against his own.
Two days since her hips had met his thrusts. He could not free his mind of her, which only confirmed his belief.
She was his goddess.
Somewhere, a mistake had been made.
A mistake that he would rectify.
He walked into the silent beauty of the fey clearing and stopped. A light mist swirled in greeting around his ankles, rising to his calves in a tender caress. Before him, the enchanted well waited. Gray stones, more ancient than time, were slashed with silver shards of light.
The thicket of thorns glimmered at the well’s base. Thorns were the faery mark of possession like the golden shards in his eyes.
He looked up. Silence surrounded him. It seemed the animals of the woodlands waited too for a sign of the magic that pulsed so richly in the fey land.
“I come to ask thee for help.” Tynan dropped down to his knees. Warmth immediately seeped up his thighs. Beneath his black tunic, his chest bore the runes of Kindred in blue dye. He wore a gold torc about his neck and gold and silver arm bands. At the waist of his breeches rested his jeweled dagger.
He laid the heavy shield on the ground by his side. With two hands, he gripped the hilt of his sword and pointed the blade to the sky. Closing his eyes, he prayed silently to the mother goddess Dana for her blessing.
“Make me strong and quick, for I go to Kindred this night. Make my warriors fearless, for I go to reclaim all that has been wrongfully taken.”
Heat shot into his hands.
Tynan opened his eyes.
Silvery mist swirled up his forearms, his hands, and into the sword, covering the blood groove and infusing the blade with magic and strength.
It felt like a woman’s passionate caress on his skin, the sword’s brass tang guard and tip glowing yellow.
“THE GODDESS DANA HEARS YOUR REQUEST AND HAS SENT ME. RECEIVE MY GIFT OF STRENGTH, DARK CHIEFTAIN,” the voice of the clearing breathed in a resonance of many whispers. He could not tell if it was female or male. “FOR, YOU SHALL FIND TRUTH AND SORROW AT KINDRED, A PASSAGE OF TIME ILL SPENT, AND ALL THAT HAS COME BEFORE SHALL BE AGAIN.”
Tynan bowed his head in reverence. “I accept thy gift.”
The strange white mist retreated, dissipating upon the land and leaving him chilled.
“Doona leave.”
At the edge of his sight, small shapes moved in the darkness. Dana’s messenger may have gone, but the piskies remained.
“Little friends, I go to Kindred to free the imprisoned faeries.” His hands clenched around the sword’s hilt, fingers gripping the familiar hold. The blade shimmered, reflecting the amethyst and gold in his gaze, but Tynan saw only beautiful eyes of silvery mist.
“I care for her.” He spoke into the nightshade and pressed his forehead to the smoothness of the cool blade. He would not give voice to his heart. He would not give the faeries a weapon with which to control him. If they took Bryna away, he could not endure it. It would be an eternal bleeding of his soul. Yet, this yearning and desire within him could be denied no longer. He hoped the piskies would understand and give in to his request.
“Help me to convince our brethren that Bryna is my true faery
mate.”
He listened for their answer, but only silence met his plea; they waited for him to declare his love — only then would they help. When he did not, they left, winking out into the night.
The glimmering in the clearing faded and Tynan bowed his head.
He nodded once and climbed to his feet.
It was the first day of Eanair, January, known as the “cold air” month, known too as the dead month, and Bryna felt the chill of apprehension.
The woodlands, a place of eternal magic and mist, could only be seen by those favored by the faeries. So, it was often said that the Tuatha Dé Danann, the faery tribe, lived in the bark of trees, underneath boulders and in the clear waters of the sun-drenched streams. It was a place of elemental currents very similar to the ancient feypaths where promises were often broken.
Before golden light touched the wintered land, the final wave of noble warriors moved silently through the ancient feypaths leaving the old females and children behind in the protection of the faery woodlands.
Many hours had passed since Lord Tynan and the first and second waves of warriors traveled the fey-paths to attack the fortress.
Bryna could wait no longer.
She found Edwin making ready with the third wave that would back up the attack.
“Edwin?” she said, planting herself in front of him. He looked up. “My Lady?” He returned his dagger to its sheath at his waist and picked up his round shield. “You should not be here. We leave for the feypath. “
“Aye, and I go with you.”
“Nay, I think not, my Lady.” Though his words were resolute, his face had colored a wee bit.
“I go with you Edwin, or I go without you,” she stated. “Either way, I go to Kindred.”
Above the hills, storm clouds had gathered in menacing shapes of dark gray, reflecting her mood.
Edwin looked up at the swiftly darkening sky and swallowed hard. “Aye, my Lady. I can see that.”
The feypath Tynan had chosen smelled of mold and decay.
Bryna coughed from it, walking behind Edwin at the end of the line of warriors. Tynan’s tribesmen had refused to let her lead, so she contented herself with following even if she was the last person to arrive.
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