She must have noticeably paled, for immediately a goblet of warm milk and honey was thrust into her hand with an order to drink.
Too queasy to argue, Bryna took a sip. Sweetness flowed down her throat, easing the nausea.
Opening her eyes, she set the goblet down on the table and found everyone looking behind her.
“Better, faery?”
The Dark Chieftain had returned.
She dropped her hands in her lap. “Aye, Tynan. My thanks.” She bent her head, unwilling to turn around and meet his new faerymate. She felt fragile suddenly and wished only to retire.
“Welcome home, Father.” Hawk rose from the chair and slid in beside the simpler in his customary seat, that is, when he did not take supper with the other tribe children. “Please, sit and tell us of the faeries.”
Bryna held still, every nerve in her body strung taught with tension. The Dark Chieftain of Prophecy, of fate and of future, moved to her left and took his seat like any mortal would. She could not take her eyes from him.
“The faeries remain the same as always, Hawk,” he answered in that deep velvet voice that she had missed.
“Did you meet the Faery King?” the boy prompted.
“Aye. I met Nuada.”
“What is he like and what . . .?”
With Tynan conversing with his son, Bryna glanced over her shoulder and saw only empty space. Behind her, a tapestry of four white horses hung, their flowing manes braided with silver ribbons.
She turned back slowly, confused by the absence of his new faerymate.
“Are you well, faery?”
His violet eyes were watchful and intent and all she could think of was how she missed him. “I am well.”
“Does the wound on your back still give you pain?”
“Rose’s herbs speed the healing.”
“I am glad to hear it.” He turned the platter around so that the choicest portions faced her. “Are you hungry, Bryna? The food looks verra good this eve.”
She stared at the offering in his hand and swallowed hard. No way could she even think about eating that.
“She retches,” Hawk replied, plopping a piece of meat in his mouth.
Bryna looked up and saw Rose correct the boy with a swat on the arm.
“Well, she does!” he said indignantly, rubbing the spot.
“Retches?” Tynan murmured, and Bryna found herself once more under scrutiny.
She reached for her goblet and sipped the honeyed milk. “I eat well enough. I am not used to the richness of the food.”
“It is the same as any other day, Bryna.”
“I am not hungry.”
“Tell us about the faeries, father,” Hawk interjected, and Tynan turned back to his son, giving her a small respite. Bowing her head, she took a shaky breath, battling a new onslaught of queasiness.
All around her people seemed to move in slow motion.
She saw Tynan nod to Rose’s question.
“ ‘Tis done,” he answered and Bryna wondered what had been done.
In her graying vision Hawk stood up, his youthful face pinched in worry.
“I doona want a faery for a mother,” he decreed loudly. “I want Bryna!”
Bryna closed her eyes and fainted into her pudding.
CHAPTER 15
THE SOUND OF THE RAIN woke her.
She lay in a large bed under a pile of white furs. The ceiling above showed runic symbols etched in fading black ink at its center.
Bryna closed her eyes and listened to the soothing sound of the rain outside. She liked the way Derina’s herbs scented the air with a soothing fragrance. Turning on her side, she snuggled deeper in the warm pelts.
“Do you intend to sleep another day away?”
Her eyes flashed open. She bolted upright in bed; white furs tumbled to her lap.
“Tynan?” She blinked, trying to focus. He relaxed in a black chair beside a hearth.
“I frightened you, faery?”
“I dinna expect you to be here.”
“Where else would I be this early in the morning?” he rejoined softly.
“In your bedchamber at Kindred.”
“This is my bedchamber, Bryna. Look around you.”
Upon the walls opposite the hearth, two large tapestries graced the walls. At the foot of the bed, batches of dried fragrant herbs lay upon a massive chest of blond wood.
She rubbed her temple. “What happened?”
“You fainted in your pudding the day before yesterday.”
“I have been here since then?” She could not believe it.
“Aye.”
“I doona remember how I got here.” A trace of panic tinged her voice.
“Easy, faery, I carried you.”
“Oh.”
From beneath lowered lashes, she looked around once more, only to confirm her fears. “This is your bedchamber?” What must his golden goddess faerymate think?
“Our bedchamber,” he corrected.
She did not understand that comment and looked back at him.
The hair, drawn away from his face, added a sensual tone to his features in the morning’s light. He wore a black tunic and breeches. His long legs were crossed at bare ankles in repose. On the table beside him, he caressed a copper goblet.
“Are you chilled?” he asked, taking a sip of ale, his gaze never leaving her. “I will add more wood to the fire.”
Bryna glanced down at her nakedness and gasped. She jerked the furs up to cover herself. “Where are my clothes?”
“You doona need clothes to sleep, faery.”
He set the goblet back down on the table. At his elbow, a clay bowl topped with a black wick waited to be lit.
Behind him, she could see the window. Outside, the gray rain gave way to heavy, white snowflakes.
“ ‘Tis snowing,” Bryna remarked.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Do we talk of the weather now?” His dark brow rose in mild annoyance.
Bryna understood his displeasure, but not his actions. Why did he bring her to his bedchamber if he wanted to be with his golden faerymate? His geas meant an obligation to her, a compulsory obligation that was no longer necessary. She was no longer necessary.
Clutching the white pelts to her breast, she shifted to the edge of the bed, farthest from him, not realizing that she offered him an enticing view of a white back and dimpled buttocks.
“The wound on your back is almost healed, faery.”
“Aye.” Her toes touched the cold wood floor and she shivered.
“Bryna, what are you doing?”
“I-I must leave.”
“I doona think so.”
“OH!” Strong arms wrapped around her. Muscles flexed and she abruptly found herself in the center of the large bed, positioned under him.
Bryna swallowed and looked up. “I must leave here, Tynan.”
“Why?”
“I doona want to cause you dishonor with your faerymate. I should not be here.”
His head tilted, a wolfish smile came to his lips. “You would never cause me dishonor, Bryna.” He nuzzled her cheek. “I have missed you. It has been too long between us.”
Bryna sucked in her breath and pulled back. He sat up and with a quick jerk, the black tunic flew over his head.
“Nay, ‘tis wrong,” she argued, but not as strongly as she should. Next, he stood, removed his breeches and came back to the bed. Leaning over her, his powerful arms braced on either side of her head.
“We are handfasted, Bryna,” he breathed against her lips. “ ‘Tis never wrong between us.” His tongue skimmed her lips and slid inside, sending sparks of fire into her bloodstream. He tasted of sweet cakes.
She kissed him back, clutching at his shoulders, unable to help herself. He groaned in her mouth, tasting of male need and once more positioned his body over her.
Bryna forgot about his golden goddess faerymate.
Forgot about honor and ancient promises.
All the disc
omfort and nausea she suffered those days since he had left melted away, replaced by pleasure and a warm ache.
His weight settled over her, hips rocked against the furs protecting her woman’s softness.
“Faerymate,” he breathed, kissing her cheek, her temple. “Take me.”
Faerymate. The word stuck in her head. Need and pleasure ebbed and Bryna turned away.
He lifted his head, blinking through a thick haze of male desire.
“Please, let me go.” She placed a firm hand against his chest. “I will not betray your faerymate.”
“My faerymate?” he echoed and grinned. “Nay, I canna let you go.”
She looked back at him in disbelief. “You would force me?”
“Nay, faerymate, I but give you what you need.”
“Tynan,” she said in exasperation, “I am not your faerymate.”
“We are handfasted, do you deny this?”
“I do not.”
His head lowered in response, warm satiny lips brushed at her ear.
Bryna shoved at his chest. “Stop. I canna think when you do that.”
He acquiesced with a silent nod, and traced his lips down the slim column of her throat.
Grabbing a handful of hair, she jerked his head back.
“Ouch,” he murmured.
She stared into his crinkling eyes, finding no humor in the situation. “The golden one is your territorial goddess and your faerymate, is this not so?” She would have her answer.
“Nay, faerymate.”
Bryna released his hair, searching his face. “I doona understand you.”
“Forgive me, I should have told you. Mischief on my part. Bryna, you are my territorial goddess, stolen from your true destiny and raised in the mortal way. My geas and body recognized you before my mind did.”
Bryna could not move.
“See the growing darkness in my eyes, faery? It is our bond, a showing of my desire for you. From your womb, I will build a kingdom of dawn.”
“How can this be?”
“Look at me, faery.” His voice was soft and compelling in the morning silence.
Bryna turned back to him.
“Search your heart, you know I speak the truth of it.”
“But, I dreamed of another . . .”
“Aye, there is another,” he agreed acidly, “young, golden-eyed, and self-indulgent. She took the place of the one stolen.”
“She is the territorial goddess?”
“Aye, but not mine.” He kissed her cheek. “Tell me what you feel, faerymate.”
“Uncertainty.”
“Then let me remove your doubt. Fulfill the ancient promise with me.” He urged against her lips. Shifting, he pulled the furs out from between them. “Welcome me into your body, goddess.”
He kissed her then, a kiss of forever and pledges long ago made. She spread her legs, welcoming him into her feminine cradle. The moisture of her arousal bathed the tip of his manhood and his body tightened in response. Bracing above her, he entered her body in a slow slide of seduction. His hips moved leisurely, building a cauldron of fire in her. Deeply, repeatedly, he thrust into her until she arched in a hot, liquid frenzy.
Bryna tossed on the pillow, whimpers escaping her throat. Her legs wrapped around his hips, urging him on.
Sweat glistened on their straining bodies.
Deep strokes.
Deeper still into her gliding heat.
Fiery contractions rippled in her womb.
Gasping, she cried out his name. Her body convulsed against him in a shower of blinding rapture and soul-piercing passion.
Tynan grasped her hips, deepening his thrusts to prolong her pleasure until she sobbed uncontrollably.
Then he surged into her one last time, lost in the throes of a splintering male possession.
Bryna awoke slowly to an empty bed.
The snow had stopped outside and bright afternoon sunlight filtered to the planked floor. Memories of Tynan’s touch sent a warm ache through her.
She was his territorial goddess, his faerymate, destined and handfasted as prophesied. As prophesied, she mused, but her heart was in it now. Somehow, this yearning would not settle for anything less than his heart.
“FINALLY, YOU WAKE.”
Bryna sat up, clutching the white furs to her bare breast. In the window’s light, a golden goddess stood in stillness.
“DO YOU KNOW ME?” the goddess asked, a small hand pulling back a hood of golden webs.
Bryna saw a face of elfin loveliness and skin the color of white flowers. She saw a bit of herself reflected in curve and color. “I have seen you in my dreams,” she answered.
“AYE, I VISITED YOU THERE. I AM BLODENWEDD. I HAVE COME TO MEET THE GODDESS WHO STOLE THE HANDSOME CHIEFTAIN FROM ME.”
“I dinna steal him,” she replied stiffly. “He chose me.”
“HIS GEAS CHOSE YOU,” the goddess corrected, and then frowned as if recognizing something distasteful. “I DID NOT KNOW YOU BE SO BEAUTIFUL IN MORTAL FORM. HAIR THE COLOR OF FLAMES AND SUNLIGHT, WINGED-BROWS OF BLACKEST PITCH, SKIN OF PUREST VIRGIN SNOW, A MOUTH OF MOIST ROSE PETALS, YOU BE MADE FROM MANY HUES.”
“So are you,” Bryna replied.
“I BE ONLY MADE FROM THE SHADES OF GOLD AND SPRINKLES OF SILVER. YOU BE OF ALL THINGS. DO YOU CARRY HIS SEED?”
Bryna pulled back at the unexpected question.
“WELL, DO YOU?”
The way Blodenwedd stared at her stomach made her feel uneasy.
“YOU DO,” the golden goddess stated with a frown.
Bryna touched her stomach. “I have not been sure until this moment. Aye, I carry his seed.”
“I AM RESENTFUL. HE BELONGED TO ME.”
Bryna watched the other’s agitation with a growing sense of calm.
“HOW CAN YOU BE HIS TERRITORIAL GODDESS WHEN RAISED IN THE MORTAL WAY?”
“How do you know that I was raised in the mortal way?”
“OUR FAERY KING SAID AND SO IT MUST BE SO. YOU WERE NEVER AMONG US. NEVER SHARED IN WHAT BE OUR RIGHT. I BE SADDENED FOR YOU.”
Bryna did not think so. “I doona miss what I doona know.”
“DOES THE LAND EVER SPEAK TO YOU?”
What Bryna felt, she could not describe.
Blodenwedd took a step forward. “FALSE GODDESS. HIS GEAS CHOSE YOU, A MISTAKE, I CLAIM, BUT THE FAERY KING DOES NOT LISTEN. UNFAIR. UNFAIR.” Her eyes flashed in anger, fists clenched.
The Dark Chieftains of the ancient line were destined to mate with a territorial goddess from long ago. Yet, they were allowed one choice and Blodenwedd knew this.
One choice only.
The heart selected.
To break the obligation and kill the chosen territorial goddess was to act contrary to nature and to court death. Yet, she could not fathom how this one had been stolen and then suddenly reappeared without the workings of the powerful Faery King. Killing a chosen goddess would only result in the chieftain’s insanity and the land returning to ruin. She was not foolish. The silver-eyed goddess watched her serenely, a controlling of emotions that made her uneasy.
“A CHIEFTAIN CAN NEVER ACCEPT ANOTHER FAERY-MATE, ONCE CHOSEN. UNLESS DEATH COMES.”
“Unless death,” Bryna echoed. “But I am not so easily killed, golden one.”
“I HAVE NOT COME TO KILL YOU.”
“Have you not?”
“FALSE GODDESS. I BE NOT STUPID. THE CHIEFTAIN WOULD KILL ME.” She tugged the hood of golden webs back over her head. “I MUST ABIDE BY OUR LAWS, THOUGH IT ANGERS ME TO DO SO.” SHE LOOKED UP, EYES GLITTERING WITH ENVY. “MINE I SAY. MINE.”
Bryna stared back defiantly. “Were you behind my stolen destiny?”
The goddess pulled back in insult. “NOT I. NEVER I. NEVER, I SAY.”
“Do you know who, then?”
“NAY. DOONA KNOW. DOONA CARE. I TELL YOU ONLY THIS, A PROMISE BETWEEN US, GODDESS TO GODDESS. SHOULD THE HANDSOME CHIEFTAIN TIRE OF YOU, I WILL TAKE HIM FOR MY OWN. FOR NOW, THE DESTINY OF FAERY
LIES IN YOUR HANDS AND I MUST ABIDE BY THIS.” She stepped back into the shafts of afternoon light filtering in from the window, her golden cat eyes cold and hard. “BE WARNED, FALSE GODDESS, INVADERS ARE COME.”
The air in the room shimmered with gold light, then the goddess was gone.
Bryna took a deep, quaking breath. “False goddess, you are such a fool,” she muttered, and dropped her head in her hands. A painful drawing centered in her womb. It was a sign of wrongness with her pregnancy that she understood all too well and had no control over. At moments like these, she could feel her true self, concealed, waiting for acknowledgement that she did not know how to give. She did not know how to be faery and until that time, a precarious future waited.
She climbed off the bed and stood on shaky feet. Her mind turned to Blodenwedd’s last words of warning.
Invaders are come.
She needed to speak with Tynan.
Bryna attended to her personal needs quickly, dabbing at the spots of dried blood on her thighs. Preparing rags for any further blood spotting, she donned a woolen gown of dark lavender with a matching fringed cloak. Feeling a little weak, she left her hair unbound and left the bedchamber. Slowly, she made her way down the center staircase and outside to the windy courtyard. Stormy gray skies promised more snow. Her gaze searched the wind-swept parapets above, where she found him standing alone.
Tynan stared out at the black sea. He felt the weight of responsibility heavily this day. Much work needed to be done to fortify Kindred against the return of the Roman invaders. If not the Romans, then another invader would come to claim the rich, green, fertile land. He must protect his tribe and his faery brethren from what was to come. Establish one kingship, he mused, form alliances with the other chieftains of Munster, Leinster, Connacht, and Ulster. It would not be easy. The Tuatha Dé Danann were different, no longer purely mortal. Mayhap their future lay with the faeries, mayhap not. Only destiny would tell.
He felt her presence. “Do you come to warn me of the snowstorm?” he asked, continuing to look out to the sea.
“Methinks no warning is needed.”
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