“Aye, the air is cold and the sea restless. Skies darken to night when they should be bright with day. Does the sea speak to you, faery?” Tynan continued to look outward, enjoying the scent of her carried to him by the air.
“Aye, the waves speak to me.”
“What do they say?”
“Good afternoon, Dark Chieftain of Kindred. Go inside before you get wet.”
Tynan threw back his head and laughed. Turning to her, his smile quickly faded.
Wrapped in a hooded cloak, his faerymate appeared a frail waif. “Bryna, are you ill?” he asked in concern. Dark circles mirrored gray eyes, glassy with fatigue.
“Tired only.”
“Come.” He took her arm and led her back down the newly built stairwell where they could be out of the wind and assured of privacy. “You should not have come out here.”
“I had to speak with you.”
“Then send one of the servants to fetch me.”
“I could not, I had to come. Tynan, invaders come,” she said distinctly, holding her hood in place.
Tynan released her and stepped back. “From where?” he demanded, focusing intently on her. “The sea?”
Bryna shook her head. Burnished gold curls slipped out of the hood. “I doona know,” she whispered urgently.
“Doona know.” Tynan scowled. “Do you sense this, or do these gloom words belong to the golden goddess?”
She stiffened in surprise. “You knew Blodenwedd visited me.”
“Aye, I sensed her presence. She made sure of it. Now, answer me. Does the land or sea warn you of invaders?”
“Nay, I sense only contentment, but she is the true goddess, Tynan. Her senses . . .”
“Hush.” The tightness in his chest evaporated. “You are my territorial goddess. I listen only to your words and wisdom, not the gloom and doom of a spoiled child.”
“Tynan, you should not take Blodenwedd’s warning lightly.”
“I do not, but her senses are not confined by time and place. Does she warn us for today or for twenty summers come pass?”
“She dinna say and I doona know.”
“I know. You are linked to me, by blood and ancient promise. Your senses guard for our time, a sentinel for here, now, and our future. That is all that concerns me.”
“Tynan, I am sorry. This faery awareness does not come easily for me.”
“It will.” He touched her arm and found her shivering. “Is this why you seek me out in the cold?”
She nodded.
He opened his cloak and pulled her chilled body into his arms. “You feel like ice.”
She stepped between his braced legs, slim arms wrapped around his waist. “You feel like fire.”
He closed the cloak around her trembling shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head, concern furrowing his brow. He would speak to Derina and Rose later. Could his babe be weakening her, or some illness draining her? Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Warmer?” he asked.
“Hmmmm.”
Tynan bent and swung her up into his arms. “You would do better out from this cold.”
She buried her face against his neck, unexpectedly and without protest. Tynan took the remaining stairs down and strode across the frosty courtyard with her light weight in his arms.
“Where do you take me?”
“Back to bed.
She lifted her head, a glimmer in the otherwise dull gray of her eyes.
“No more of that,” he scowled, “until I know you are well.” He headed for his keep.
“I am pregnant.”
“I know. Bryna.” With a powerful shove of his shoulder, the keep’s doors flung open. He strode into the brightly lit hall with the cold wind following him in.
Ian appeared immediately by his side. “Sire?”
“Fetch Derina and Rose,” Tynan ordered softly, “my faerymate is ill.”
Ian nodded and disappeared back out the door. “You knew I was pregnant?” she inquired with a trace of anger in her tone.
Tynan climbed the center staircase. Stopping on the third step, he turned and barked out orders to the servants waiting at the bottom of the steps. Their faces were all grim with worry for they served him out of choice, not slavery. Tynan wanted food and a hot bath brought to the lord’s bedchamber for his faerymate.
The servants immediately set to the tasks.
He felt a tug on his hair. “How do you know?” she demanded when he turned back to her.
“The Faery King told me.” He took the rest of the stairs two at a time and went down the hall to their bedchamber.
“Oh, him,” she murmured weakly, and rested her head back against his shoulder. “I wonder how he knew.”
Bryna closed her eyes, strength draining to cramping and pain.
CHAPTER 16
TYNAN’S HEART HURT, A DEEP drawing wound not meant to ever heal. Damn the faeries.
Midnight had come to the land of the Tuatha Dé Danann in shades of crimson pitch, a moonless sky, and stars of dirty white. The air tasted foul in the fields and in the halls of Kindred.
He stood by the roaring hearth in an empty feast hall. For just a moment, he could not believe Rose’s softly spoken words.
“Tell me again.” He sat down in a wooden chair and dropped his head in his hands.
“Lordling,” Rose whispered.
He looked up. “Tell me!”
Fire sparks of blue and red spiked in the hot air beside his thigh. He did not feel the intense heat of the flames, only the icy fear coiling around his heart.
“Her womb bleeds. Derina and I both feel she will lose the babe this night.”
Tynan looked into the flames. “By the goddess, I am Kindred’s ancient heir, the Dark Chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danann. With my sword and wits, I can best most men. I doona know how to fight this battle of life and win.”
“You canna win when death has chosen.”
Within his inner fey sight, Tynan saw shapes move. He glanced at the closed doors of the empty feast hall. Outside those wooden doors, he knew Ian and Edwin guarded his privacy. The rest of his tribe receded into the night to await the dreaded news.
He looked up and collided with his son’s frightened eyes.
“Hawk, I thought I told you to go to bed.”
“I canna sleep with death near.”
Tynan pulled the boy into his arms. “Death comes not for you.”
“Will Bryna die?”
Tynan looked up at the simpler, looked at her bloodstained apron.
Rose smiled sadly. “I doona think so, Hawk. Bryna is of Daoine Sidhe. She is young and strong. She will have other children that will bring loyalty to the land.”
Tynan released his son and stood. “If she is my true territorial goddess, why does she lose the babe?”
The simpler paled.
“Answer me. Has my geas chosen wrong?”
“Derina thinks it is because Bryna has not accepted her true faery self. Until she does, your seed will not take. You must love her with your full heart and being.”
Tynan guided his son into the chair and thought about what the simpler had said.
He had fought long and hard for his tribe to reclaim their heritage. He already admitted to himself that he cared greatly for her. How much more did the Gods and Goddesses want? How much more would they demand of him? He cared for her in his way.
Damn them.
Tynan raked a hand through his hair. He strode to the windows at the end of the feast hall.
His chest felt tight. Breath constricted in his throat. At his order, tapestries covered the windows at night to keep the cold outside. He grabbed the edge of the woven cloth. For a moment, he stared into the jet black eyes of a pair of hunting kestrels.
With a growl of rage, he tore the tapestry down and flung it to the floor behind him.
He stared out at the starless night locked in a red haze of fury . . . at himself. Red clouds hid the moon. Torches lit the courty
ard and parapets and he could see his men standing guard, tension in their postures. They waited as all of his tribe waited, for this endless night to pass.
This was his fault. Once he suspected her with babe, he should never have touched her. Damn his lust. Damn his geas.
“When can I see her?” He looked over his shoulder.
Rose had not moved from beside Hawk.
“Soon, in a few hours.” Her voice pitched high to carry across the hall.
“She has not yet lost the babe,” he stated rather than asked.
“Nay, not yet. But soon.”
Tynan’s stomach clenched. “How can you be so sure?”
“I am, Lordling. Ask not how.”
Thoughts of Bryna writhing in pain upstairs nearly undid him.
This was his fault.
His fault. What more can I give?
The simpler came up beside him. “Lordling.” She touched his arm. “This thing is not your fault.”
“Aye, it is mine, Rose,” he replied icily. He looked back to the unforgiving night. “I need to be with my faerymate.”
“Most men want nothing to do with the birthing, let alone something like this.”
“I am not most men.”
“I need to be with Bryna too,” his son stated, coming up behind them.
“Nay, Hawk.” Tynan shook his head. He would not subject a child to witnessing death in this tragic manner.
“I wish to be there with Bryna.”
“Hawk.” Tynan knelt in front of his son. “You shall guard the door and keep the faeries away. Can you do this for me?”
“Aye.”
“I will not let death take her, Hawk.” He pulled his son into his arms and held him tightly, drawing comfort from his small body and the simple scents of hay and horses in the boy’s hair.
Blood stained the linens.
Bryna tossed in agony, in sweat and in pain, panting for breath. She wanted to run away but her body did not have the strength to obey her.
Tynan’s warm chest pressed up against her naked back, giving her strength. “Breathe, faery.”
She bit her tongue from crying out. The contractions worsened. It hurt so very much, but she would not cry out. Never would she cry out. Not even when the villagers tried to burn the heart shaped birthmark off her hand did she allow a whimper to escape.
Her chieftain mate held her tenderly, his arms strong. “Bryna listen to me.”
She shook her head.
“You must let our child go.”
“Nay,” she cried, her fingers digging into his forearms.
He kissed her temple, sweet comfort and sorrow. “Let him go, Bryna. He was meant for better things than here.”
Grayness closed in upon her and Bryna lost consciousness at the first light of dawn. A final, great flushing of dark blood stained her pale thighs and the white bed linens.
Death had claimed the chieftain’s heir.
It was done.
Tynan stood near the window, numb with shock. He watched Derina and Rose clean the blood from Bryna’s limp body. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in helpless rage.
Outside, the morning sky darkened to a stormy, lead gray. Howling winds turned into a wintry gale of sleet and rain. The tops of trees bent low to the ground in mourning and grief. Temperatures dropped, stealing the warmth of life from the air.
“We wait now,” Rose murmured, helping the ancient druidess tuck the pelts around Bryna’s still form.
“How long?” Tynan asked, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.
“Until she awakens, Lordling. Darkness and grief stain your features. Go rest. Nothing more can be done here.”
Tynan shook his head. “I will not leave her, Rose. Take the druidess and go. I wish to be alone with my faerymate.”
The simpler nodded. With bloody linens in one arm, she guided the ancient out of the bedchamber.
The door closed behind them, leaving him with his faerymate and his grief.
Tynan stared at the small still form in his bed. In a desperate voice he pleaded, “Bryna, doona leave me.”
The gale’s howling wind outside was his only answer. He turned and punched the wall. “You canna have her.” Pain sliced through his hand and up his arm. “Do you hear me? You canna have her.” Icy rain pelted the windows in answer.
Long hours passed.
And when still she did not awaken, Tynan slipped into bed with her. He held her gently, comforted by the sound of her slow, steady breathing.
In her unconsciousness, Bryna floated in a strange purple mist to the woodland dells, faery gardens, and moorland caves filled with perfume and music. Graceful elfin folk with pale, delicate complexions and luminous jewel eyes, welcomed her. She went with them, became one with their number, losing all sense of time and place.
In dreams, she danced with the virtuous souls of the pagans and ate ripe, purple plums from the perfect orchards. At the edge of dusk, the enchanting creatures brought her to a field of wild flowers that lay between a rocky road and cliffs spotted with thickets of silver thorns.
“A choice,” the elfin folk said, pointing down the path. They kissed her gently on the cheek, one by one, and then stepped back, disappearing into the purple mist.
Alone, Bryna stood at the beginning of a winding path of white stones. She listened to the sound of the flute music in this fey place and to a man’s breathing.
A choice.
To leave or to stay?
Bryna opened her eyes and saw the gray ceiling above her. Her first feeling was of soreness.
Turning her head on the pillow, her sleepy gaze settled on Tynan. He slept soundlessly beside her, fully dressed in a black tunic and breeches, his braided hair badly mussed. Dark circles lived under his eyes and a gaunt paleness showed beneath the dark growth of a beard.
She shifted and winced.
Tynan’s eyes flew open. He rose on an elbow, instantly alert.
Bryna’s eyes widened at the stark intensity in his face.
“You came back,” he murmured with relief.
“Where did I go?”
“To a fey place, I imagine.”
Fey? Bryna remembered a field of wild flowers and blades of tall, blue-green grass.
The image blurred to a white stone path, and then a sea of blood.
She blinked in memory of it, and a physical pain washed over her.
Blood.
Loss.
Grief.
An emptiness settled inside her womb where her child had been. “I have lost our babe,” she murmured.
He pulled her into his arms, his body warm and strong and full of life. “He was not meant for us, Bryna.”
She clung to him, tears of misery streaming down her cheeks. “I am so sorry, Tynan.” Words of remorse locked in her throat. “My fault . . .”
“Nay, faery. It is the way of things, sometimes. Doona blame yourself.”
After a time, when sorrow had spent, they lay in each other’s arms. In the courtyard outside, a child’s delighted shriek mingled with the bark of the wolf-hounds. Tribesmen called to one another. Horses neighed in greeting and life moved on.
Bryna listened and took comfort in the sounds. The purity of her fey self took hold, a natural inclination for the positive and encouraging. “We will have other children,” she whispered.
Above her head, Tynan’s eyes closed. “Do not think on that now.” Never would he risk her life in childbirth again.
A fortnight had past since suffering the loss of her unborn babe. Bryna lay motionless and alone in the big bed. Her emotions still felt raw inside her, but her fey self tempered it with hopes for the future.
She spent most days in the bedchamber sleeping or staring out the window to the courtyard below, physically healing and sipping Rose’s demon bane tea.
Healing.
For some reason, her body needed more time.
The feelings of loss and melancholy would soon ease into a sense of sadness and regre
t. She knew this.
If only Tynan did not stay away.
Derina and Rose would visit often, their presence a great comfort to her. The warmth of Marta, March, the busy month, filtered through the windows. Days lengthened pleasantly, birds were gone a mating, hibernating badgers awakened, and hardy farmers began to plough fields with their oxen. Each day the courtyard filled with Tynan’s tribesmen and local traders. Each day the loss inside her eased.
Each day he stayed away.
From just outside the bedchamber, she heard soft footfalls and looked to the entrance.
“Afternoon, child,” Derina said from the doorway. “Afternoon, my teacher.”
“I bring a gift from the chieftain. Do you feel up to walking?” Her teacher held up a gray gown of fine thread.
“Please, come in.” Pushing the pelts aside, Bryna climbed out of bed and went to the druidess. She touched the soft fabric of the bodice. “ ‘Tis beautiful.”
“Put the gown on and come walk with me outside. The sun is high in the sky, child. I have a need to stretch my legs.”
Bryna looked at the gown and then back to her teacher. She smiled. “I would like that.”
She shrugged out of the white bedrail and donned the gray gown. The bodice hugged her breasts and nipped at her waist.
“Does it fit, child?”
“Verra well, Teacher.” Long sleeves, crossed with thin silver ribbons, hugged her arms
“Hold out your hand, I have my own gift for you.” Bryna held out her hand.
“Here.” The druidess dropped two golden combs into her palm. “For your hair, child. Pull it away from your face. Let us go. You have been too much inside of late.”
“Teacher, these combs belonged to your mother.”
“They are yours now, child.” The druidess closed Bryna’s fingers over the combs. She shuffled back to the window. “No tears. The time for grieving must pass. Let us go and enjoy what is left of the day.”
With a few quick brush strokes, Bryna managed to tame her hair into some semblance of order. She placed the combs on either side of her temples and pulled the curls away from her face. Sitting down on the bed, she slid her feet into her brown boots.
“Have you seen Lord Tynan?” she inquired. “He gave me the gown to bring to you.”
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