Bryna’s steps began to slow.
“Tired, faery?”
She shook her head. Though the faery awakening in the clearing and the revealing at the falls had weakened her physically, she did not want Tynan to suffer the feypaths any longer than necessary. “We must go on. I doona want you to spend a night in the feypaths.”
“It is not as bad as first I thought. Let us rest here.” He pointed to an outcropping of rocks shaped in a cross. “Enough hours have passed that it feels like night to me.”
Bryna did not argue. Wearily, she sank to her knees near the crosslike outcropping of rock and minerals.
Tynan could feel the faery magic of the tunnel against his tingling skin. He tried to peer into the purple darkness. “Do you sense the fey magic?” he asked.
When no answer came, he turned around. In the eerie darkness, his faerymate curled upon herself on the ground, fast asleep. The silvery webs of the enchanted gown had darkened, obscuring the outline of her body. Flame colored tresses spilled about her shoulders to the hard ground. Her lips were parted in a deep slumber.
A faint smile curved Tynan’s mouth. Stubborn faery. Sleep comes to you despite the strangeness here. Mayhap it is no longer strange to you.
He lay down behind her, wincing slightly at the remaining tightness in his healed thigh. Gently, his arm slid around her small waist and pulled her back into his chest.
“Tynan?” she murmured sleepily, snuggling back into him.
“I am here, faery. Let us sleep for a while.”
“Aye,” she whispered.
He buried his face in the silken waves of her hair and closed his eyes. She smelled of lavender and sanctuary even here, within the feypath. He felt slumber rising up to claim him, but it would be a light resting, for already his senses were tuned to threat and hazard. He respected his fey brethren, but never would he trust them.
They slept for eight hours, although Tynan could not be sure. He felt rested and turned onto his back.
“Morning.”
He looked over and stared into a pair of lovely silver eyes.
“ ‘Tis morning, you think?” he inquired softly.
“Aye, on the outside land. We best be going.”
He nodded and stood.
Reaching up, Bryna placed her hand in his, a touch that warmed her soul. Effortlessly, he pulled her to her feet.
“I have a longing to return to Kindred.”
“So do I,” Bryna agreed and led the way.
After they had walked for a time, vines began to thicken along the ivory cast ceiling and walls.
“Faery, I am to assume we cannot eat these berries.” He looked to her for confirmation.
Bryna glanced at the blue-black fruit ripening on the vines. She knew he was hungry, but then so was she. “That could be dangerous.”
“They are poisonous?”
“Nay, not poisonous but I doona know how a mortal’s stomach would react with fruit tainted with faeries’ spitefulness.”
He grinned. “Not verra well.”
“Nay, I think not.”
He touched a berry then glanced back at her.
“Can you eat them?”
“Methinks my stomach might strongly object.”
He nodded and looked back down the tunnel. “We need to eat.”
“It is not far.”
“The immensity of these brown vines could easily trap a man.”
Bryna regarded the vines. Large heart-shaped leaves grew vigorously across ceiling rock and down cracks in the walls. The purple flowers were pipe shaped, prickly, and foul smelling.
“The vines grow thicker further in.” He fingered the sturdiness of one of the leaves. “You said we are not far from Kindred.”
“Aye, the vines lead us to Kindred’s back garden. Methinks an hour or less for the rest of our journey.”
“At least there are no thorns.”
She laughed softly. “There is that.”
Reaching back, he pulled his sword out of the scabbard and prepared to cut a path for them.
“Nay, Tynan,” Bryna cried out in alarm, grabbing his sword arm. “Doona cut them. The vines are living and will let us pass. We need only ask them. Please lay down your sword.”
He looked at the vines suspiciously. With a fluid upward motion, he flipped the sword, sheathing it perfectly in the scabbard at his back. “Never have I spoken to vines.”
“I know.” She stepped forward; a whispered request, and the vines opened a path for them.
He stood there, staring.
“Shall we continue?” Bryna asked.
“By all means, faery.” He gestured forward. “Let us continue.”
An hour later, they came upon a half-moon rock.
Tynan searched for the lever underneath and the rock slid open.
“After you, faery. Sunlight awaits.”
Smiling, Bryna stepped through the fey opening into a place of in-between, a momentary coldness, a feeling of displacement and obscurity, and then…
They were outside.
Blue sky.
Green earth.
Sweet air.
She took a deep breath, her face upturned to the fragrant warmth of the afternoon sun. “It feels good to be outside once again.”
“Aye, it does,” Tynan murmured.
From somewhere near, a child’s voice rose in laughter. Behind them the hedgerow and vines returned to their growth pattern, hiding the entrance to the ancient feypath.
Bryna’s gaze glided over the back garden. A small grove of sacred oaks stood far off to the right, acting like a wall to the garden and shadowing the evergreen hollies that guarded the waning year when winter came.
“It feels like Meitheamh, the month of weddings,” she said.
“Aibrean and Beltane are gone?” Tynan found it hard to believe that April and May had passed and they were into the month of June.
“Aye, Tynan. The cottage and falls were belonging to the faery world. Time moves differently there. Here in the mortal world, it feels like Meitheamh.”
“The cottage and falls were of faery?”
“Aye, they are a place no mortal has ever seen. Here, under this magnificent blue sky the land whispers of midsummer to me and so it must be.” The passage of time could sometimes be contradictory between the faery and mortal worlds, and that recognition did not come easily to her. For now, she simply breathed deeply of the fragrant air, an enjoyment of life in her lungs.
Her chieftain mate stepped forward, hands on his hips, overlooking his land. “It feels good to be back.”
Bryna watched him. He stood apart from her, a stance of power and alertness in the sunlight. His left hand rose, shading eyes that scanned the area.
“The land is serene, Tynan.”
“Aye, so I feel it.”
The black faery webs enhanced his flawless form. It was as if the Gods and Goddesses gathered to craft him in nature’s excellence.
“You are very quiet, faery.”
Warmth crept into her cheeks. “I simply observe the black webs.”
“Do they meet with your approval?”
“They are fey.”
“That they are.” He glanced back at her. “But I see another kind of appreciation in your eyes.”
Bryna smiled and looked away. She stepped forward into an abundance of angular reddish-brown stems and yellowish buttonlike flowers.
“Mugwort,” he said in observation. “The druidess insists the plant keeps elves and evil away.”
“Elves hate the scent of this herb.”
“I will not argue with a goddess about that.” He held out his hand. “Come, walk with me, I wish to view my land before we are noticed, and the chieftain’s responsibility is set upon my shoulders once again.”
Bryna placed her hand in his and walked beside him. Along a low wall of stones, a dirt path opened. Patches of wild strawberries grew in and out of the shade, spreading outward toward the fields. The low growing, creeping plants cove
red almost half an acre.
“Your tribesmen doona see us,” Bryna remarked, shielding her eyes.
“When they raise their heads from the strawberry patches they will.”
“Lordling!” The simpler had come to her feet in the middle of a particularly succulent strawberry patch. Ian turned, looking to where she pointed.
“They see us.”
“So it would seem, faery,” he chuckled. “Ian wonders how we got into the back garden without alerting his posted sentries.”
“Will you tell him of the garden’s feypath entrance?”
“I will tell him because he must guard us well. Do you object?”
She shook her head. “As long as those you tell are respectful.”
“Then you must teach us, goddess, how to be respectful.”
She looked up at him. “The way you respect the faery?”
“The way I respect you.”
Somewhere to their right, Hawk let out a bellow.
Tynan turned at the sound. “So much for a quiet homecoming.”
The boy came at them at a dead run, trampling through strawberries. Bryna stepped back allowing Tynan to catch his son and swing him up in his arms.
The boy wore only blue breeches; his bare chest and feet were stained with pink juice. “Hawk, you smell of strawberries.” Tynan laughed quietly and turned to Ian.
“Welcome home, sire.”
“My thanks, Ian. It is good to stand on Kindred’s soil once more.” He looked around at his gathering tribesmen. “Word travels quickly. How are our people?”
“Quiet and well guarded,” Ian answered. “Eamon?”
“We will talk later.”
“Bryna!” Hawk cried.
Laughing softly, Bryna stepped forward.
There was a collective silence and Tynan scanned the faces of his tribesmen. He saw respect and joy and found his heart well pleased.
He glanced over his shoulder at his smiling faerymate. No longer the shy, remote girl he had once brought to his woodland fort, Bryna had become a territorial goddess in full bloom, a goddess who would protect the Tuatha Dé Danann with her life.
“Are there any strawberries left, Hawk?” she teased his son.
“Aye, Bryna. I’ve picked them all day until my fingers hurt. Rose said my mouth is red from too much picking.”
“Why is that?” Tynan set his son down.
“I ate only a few,” the boy protested, straightening his pants’ waist and leaving a new trail of red stickiness.
“A few?” the simpler echoed, coming up to them and wiping her hands on a stained rag tied to her belt. “More like a garden’s worth.”
“I dinna eat a garden’s worth, Rose,” Hawk said indignantly.
“With all that fruit, you are sweet now.”
“Rose, I am not sweet.” He shoved away at his black hair. “I am a boy.”
Tynan looked over at Bryna. When their eyes met, she laughed, a sound of musical bells like none other the tribe had ever heard. Grinning himself, he wiped the strawberry juice from his son’s chin.
“She sounds like music,” Hawk said in surprise and wonder.
“That she does. You have a belly full of sweetness. Let us hope it stays there.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means,” his faerymate knelt beside his son, “if you eat too much of a thing it may bring pain to your belly for a short time.”
Hawk paled. “Pain?”
She pressed her palm against the boy’s full stomach and smiled gently. “But not this time, methinks.”
“I will not eat anymore today.”
“Good.” Tynan pulled Bryna to her feet and squeezed her hand.
“Good,” the simpler repeated, and turned to embrace Bryna. “Welcome home.”
Tynan turned to Ian.
“My faerymate and I must rest. Have the tribe elders gather in the main hall on the morrow. We will talk then.”
Ian nodded. “Done, sire.”
Tynan guided his faerymate forward through the crowd of his people. “Come, faery.”
He wanted a hot bath, food, sleep, and Bryna in his bed, but first, he needed to walk around Kindred and feel the rich soil beneath his feet.
“Rose, take Bryna to our chambers,” he ordered. “Have a warm bath and hot food prepared.”
“Aye, Lordling.”
“Tynan?” His faerymate started to protest. “Are you not coming?”
“I would like to walk the land first, faery.”
She looked beyond him, her eyes clear and bright and said, “I understand.”
“Go with Rose and Hawk. I will not be long.”
“As you wish.”
He watched Hawk escort Rose and Bryna where two guards stood at alert by the kitchen’s double doors. When they disappeared into the keep, he turned back to Ian and lowered his voice.
“What month is this, Ian? It doona feel like Aibrean.”
Ian did not hide his surprise. “ It is Meitheamh.”
“Two months lost.” His faerymate had been right. He turned back to face the eager countenances of his tribesmen.
“It feels good to be home. When twilight wanes on the last Sunday of the month, we shall celebrate Midsummer’s End and the return of my faerymate.” Tynan held his hands up for quiet. “Aye, I know you all like celebrating. So do I, and it is long overdue at Kindred. Now, go before you overrun the gardens,” he commanded. “Otherwise, we must face the simpler’s wrath and I fear I am not up to it this day. We all know of Rose’s protectiveness toward her plants.”
Several women laughed. “I would rather face her temper than that of the old druidess,” a young man muttered, walking away.
Tynan’s tribesmen followed, going their own way, some back to chores, some back home, news of their chieftain’s return spreading quickly.
“Ian,” Tynan said, “walk with me.”
The two men headed for the stables, one dressed in a fine brown tunic and breeches and the other in glittering black faery webs.
Tynan wanted to take a quick stroll around Kindred before returning to his chambers. He scanned the finished corrals with approval. Cloud and several other mares grazed quietly at the high end of their paddock while their foals played in mock battle. He saw Spear nip at the hindquarters of a young gray that came too close.
“Sire?” Ian frowned. “Two months lost?”
Tynan rubbed his chin. “To my way of thinking, I left only a few days ago.”
“I have had search parties in the hills and feypaths for two months now looking for you.”
“I doona doubt it, Ian. Faery time is different from our time. I canna explain it. Send word to bring our men home. There is no more searching.”
“Done.”
They stopped under the parapets.
Above the horizon, the setting sunlight changed the colors of the land to pink and lavender.
Tynan studied the inner courtyard filled with his tribesmen. Pigs and goats stood off in their pens. Horses and wagons stood by the stables. People bartered among themselves. There were so very many. A deep calm flooded his being. “It feels good to be home,” he murmured, adjusting a sleeve.
Ian cleared his throat. “These black clothes are made by our brethren? I have never seen anything like it before.”
“They are faery webs,” Tynan answered while shielding his eyes and checking the unfinished parapets. The walkway along the inner width of the parapets, when finished, would connect the different towers of Kindred to one another.
“Faery webs?” Ian echoed.
“Aye,” Tynan chuckled. “ ‘Tis a long story, Ian.”
“They are the webs of a condensed night that only a Dark Chieftain may wear,” the ancient druidess explained loudly, coming up behind them.
Both men spun around.
“Teacher,” Tynan warned. “Be careful your silent step does not startle a warrior.” He did not want to see her hurt for Bryna’s sake. In her brown robes, the ancient blended
with the shadows under the parapets.
“A warrior should be more alert,” she said testily.
“Do you need something, Teacher?” Tynan asked.
“Aye, I do.”
With a raised brow, he watched in disbelief as the druidess pressed her open palm upon his stomach. Bent fingers sent a pulsing heat through him.
“The webs accept you,” the ancient murmured. “Spirits and night. Good. Verra good.”
“Old crone,” Ian said beside him, “remove your hand. We will have none of your eerie ways here.”
“Do you fear the touch of an old woman, Dark Chieftain?”
“I doona fear anyone’s touch.”
The ancient looked pointedly at Ian.
“Ian,” Tynan turned to his friend, knowing the druidess wished to speak with him alone.
Ian understood too. Bowing, he walked stiffly away with a muttered oath.
Tynan turned back to the ancient. “We are alone. Say your words.”
“Verra well. Kindred needs heirs.”
“I know my duty.”
“You honor-marked, claimed, and handfasted with the territorial goddess.”
“You tell me of things I already know, Teacher. Tell me of things I do not.”
“The faeries remain uncertain of Bryna’s ability to give you children.”
“They gave their approval.”
“Approvals can be withdrawn,” she replied.
“Damn you, say it.”
“Abundance now, famine tomorrow.”
“Speak clearly,” Tynan commanded, his tone laced with irritation.
“The faeries came to me last night in a dream. If Bryna does not conceive within a sennight, another goddess they choose for you. Your memory will be wiped clean of her.”
“They would not dare,” he growled in fury.
“Oh, they dare. You will have no memory of her and no choice but to accept a new goddess mate.”
“Can they do this?”
“Aye. Who shall stop them? The ancient prophecy must be fulfilled. The Faery King grows ever more impatient with each passing hour. My Bryna deserves happiness. This is an uncertain time for her, an uncertain time for us all. The longer you wait, the weaker your tribe, and the more intolerant the faeries become.”
“Damn them.”
“Now hold still and let me touch you.”
Her cold palm pressed hard into his stomach, sending icy shivers up his spine. He felt as if the breath were being drawn out of him. He put his hands on his hips. “By the goddess,” he muttered.
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