Fey Born

by R. Garland Gray

  Lana nodded.

  “He be the first fey guardian of the waters and one of the oldest of our fey kin. Long ago, as is the way of the olden fey, he lost the feel of things. Yet, methinks, he hungers for it.”

  “He hungers for emotions and feelings?”

  “Aye, but ‘tis dangerous for him. He canna be both fey and mortal, both knowing and unknowing.”

  “I am fey,” Keegan replied firmly, standing in the doorway. “Doona make me out to be something other,” he reprimanded the druidess.

  The ancient waved a hand in the air to silence him. “Doona let it be said I offend a guardian.”

  “Would you even care if you did, ancient one?”

  “Mayhap, mayhap not.”

  The fey guardian took the druidess’s comments in stride, Lana mused, with no displeasure crossing his features.

  “I would speak with Lana,” he said, stepping into the cottage.

  The druidess pushed up from the table. “Do the father and mother know of your claim? Have you promised to handfast?”

  “I have spoken with them.”

  “And?” the druidess prompted.

  Lana looked up at the handsome guardian with mixed feelings and waited.

  Keegan realized the druidess would not leave him alone with Lana until she knew all of the details. “I told them I have seen Lana’s birthmark.”

  “I suspect they were not pleased,” the ancient said with glee.

  His gaze narrowed at the meddling crone. “Not at first, but they soon realized I had come to ask for their daughter in marriage and to receive their blessing. Both agreed with me that a quick handfasting was needed. Does that satisfy you, curious one?” he prompted tolerantly.

  “It does. When be the ceremony?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” he answered. “Now, I must ask that you leave us, Derina.”

  Reaching for her crooked walking stick at the doorway, the ancient grumbled something about being kicked out of her own home and shuffled out into the warm sunlight.

  Lana sat very still at the table. She soon found herself the sole focus of that hypnotic fey gaze. Even though he told her parents he had seen her birthmark, she found it difficult to believe they would agree to her handfasting with a faery.

  “We must talk, Lana.” He gestured to the table. “May I sit?”

  She nodded and watched as he took his seat across from her.

  He looked like the Keegan she knew.

  “The druidess has made stew and bread. Would you like some?” she inquired politely.

  He shook his head.

  She stared at him, unable to help herself, searching for what lay within.

  “I have not changed since last we met.”

  An understatement, she thought. Her hands locked in her lap. “What do you want of me?”

  “First, I want your word to handfast with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have made a mating claim upon you and it must be willingly accepted.”

  “You have my parents’ blessing,” she rebuked softly.

  “I want yours.”

  “You are a faery.”

  He arched a brow at that obvious fact and she found herself frowning. She realized quickly that desire and passion had not prompted the mating claim. Something else stirred him, and her jaw grew rigid with resentment. Why did he not value her for who she was? She had so much to offer, if only given a chance. For the briefest of moments, she wanted to hurl a variety of caustic insults at that handsome face and tell him what he could do with the mating claim.

  “I suppose you claimed me because of a birthmark you believe will somehow help you find a missing sword,” she said.

  He conceded, which only added to her bitterness. “I need your help to find the sword, Lana.”

  “How can I help you find a sword?” she said, barely managing to contain her fury.

  “You bear the birthmark of the sword host above the sacred female place.”

  “ ‘Tis only a birthmark, a wicked thing,” she snapped.

  “Not wicked, I have told you this.”

  Lana looked away, the fury leeching out of her. “What is a sword host?”

  He did not answer her question, but said instead, “I need your help.”

  She looked back at him, feeling wretched and hollow inside. A heavy sadness settled around her heart. “You are fey born, Keegan. Why did you not just take me, whisk me away into mist and shade.” Her voice sounded despondent even to her own ears.

  “I will not dishonor…” he seemed to hesitate, “… the sword.”

  “I am not a sword,” she spat in anger.

  His head tilted, eyes slowly searching her face as if seeing the hurt reflected there. “True,” he said softly. “You are not.”

  “Nay, I am not.”

  They sat in silence looking at each other and Lana felt warmth rising in her cheeks at his continued perusal. She looked away and still she knew he continued to watch her.

  “What has Derina told you about me, Lana?” he asked.

  “You are a fey guardian, the First Guardian of the Waters. I doona know what that means.” She looked back at him.

  “I am fey,” he said. “I am first guardian of our blessed waters, of the rains, lochs, and sea. I am protector. I battle and defend all that would harm and malign that which gives life to life.”

  “Why would the waters need protection?” She could not fathom anyone not valuing the waters.

  “There are some who doona respect. I remind them.” He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “What else has the druidess told you about me?”

  “You hunger for the wonder of things, for the surprise, and the not knowing.”

  A brow arched in disdain. “Did she now?” he challenged, and Lana wished she had remained silent to his question.

  “Do you always listen to an ancient druidess who smells of mead?” he prompted.

  “I always listen and then make up my own mind.”

  “A wise decision.” He continued to look at her, searching for something known only to him.

  Lana looked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his gaze turn silvery and bright. His arms unfolded and she slowly faced him, feeling a strong trepidation at his continued scrutiny. He leaned forward, his face stark and intense.

  She pulled back.

  “Why do you look to the north, Lana?”

  “North?” she echoed in relief. She thought he used his fey senses and found out about her flawed heart.

  “You look north, Lana. Even now, as you sit before me and turn away, your eyes strayed to the cottage’s northern window. What is there?” he urged softly. His dark velvet voice slid through her blood in warm compulsion. “What do you sense?”

  She felt her body melting into mist and yearning.

  “Tell me.”

  She blinked. “Tell you what?”

  His eyelids lowered a fraction and she abruptly pushed up from the table, regaining control. “Stop that!”

  “Stop what?” he murmured innocently.

  “The compulsion in your voice. You are trying to steal my will.”

  After a brief pause, he nodded his acquiescence. “Methinks you would fight me much anyway.”

  “I would.” Lana moved around the table and turned to leave. Her breath caught sharply at his touch.

  He grabbed her wrist, holding her gently but steadfastly.

  “You have not agreed to handfast with me, Lana.”

  “Would it matter?” She spoke meekly despite the anger. “You have my parents’ blessing. You could probably cast a spell upon me anyway.”

  He released her wrist. “I suppose I could. Do you wish me to conjure a spell? I would much rather have you willingly.”

  The air became heavy in the druidess’s cottage as she stared at him. She could not win. A long sigh slipped from her lips and she reluctantly agreed. “I accept your claim.”

  He stood then, looming over her, and Lana stepped back,
the scent of rainstorms strong in her lungs.

  “We will leave after the handfasting ceremony,” he said brusquely, turning away from her. “The druidess will pack food bags for the journey.”

  “Leave?”

  “Aye.” He headed for the door.

  “Where do we go?” she asked, feeling even more uncertain than before.

  “North, Lana. We travel north.”

  CHAPTER 4

  IT WAS MORNING, THE DAY before her handfasting to an emotionally remote fey guardian. Lana felt vaguely terrified, angry, and restlessly excited. Placing her dried heather sash back in its wooden box, she walked into the main room. She wore her working clothes, a long sleeve green tunic, breeches, and worn leather boots.

  A fire circle lighted the center of the main room, above which a gap opened in the top thatching, allowing smoke to escape and amber sunlight and blue sky to shine through. Outside, a blackbird’s song greeted a sunny new day.

  “Morning,” she greeted her mother, Cara.

  “Morning, daughter,” Cara replied, taking a sip of goat’s milk from a bronze goblet. “Come join me, Alana.”

  Only her mother called her by her given name. Alana meant fair among her people. Lana took a seat at the long table opposite her mother. “Where is Father?”

  “He is out in the fields inspecting what Keegan has ploughed for him. Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye,” she reassured, though she did not. “Methinks we need to talk, Alana.”

  Lana thought to explain about Keegan and wisely kept silent instead.

  “When you were born early, tiny, frail, and wheezing for air, I thought the rock faeries would steal you away and give me one of their bigheaded children instead.”

  Lana laughed softly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “They steal only healthy and special children.”

  “You are special, my daughter.” Her mother’s gaze took on a far away look, a look Lana had never seen before. “The sea calls to you and every morning you go to greet her. When twilight descends, you visit the high meadows where sky and land are closest.”

  Like him, Lana thought, studying her mother’s tender yet sad expression. It felt as if her mother wanted to say, like him.

  “I visit the sea because I love the sounds of the waters, unending melodies of silence and soft echoes. In the eve, I walk the high meadows where Lightning and the other horses end their day grazing. It calms me.”

  “Aye, I know your fondness for that horse, but you be full grown and must look toward other pleasures and calming, Alana.” Her mother focused back on her and asked, “Would you like some milk?”

  Lana startled at the question. “What?” Her mind had caught on the word pleasures.

  “Milk, would you care for some goat’s milk this morn?”

  She shook her head.

  Cara stood and retrieved a clay bowl of raw honey to mix with her milk. “Keegan came to visit us last eve while you were out.”

  “I know.”

  “Aye, I know you do.”

  Lana waited for her mother to retake her seat. “Are you and Father upset? Does he wish to speak with me?”

  “Nay, Alana child, we are pleased by Keegan’s claim. Your father considers Keegan to be one of the tribe’s most skilled warriors. He is proud of you.”

  “He is proud of me?” she said in helpless disbelief. Her inability to attract a mate had been a great burden to her father.

  “Aye, Keegan mentioned he has seen your birthmark.”

  That is not all he has seen, Lana mused, and looked down at her hands in discomfort. “I know.”

  Her mother smiled in understanding. “It is all right, my daughter. Sometimes desire overwhelms our better instincts, and Keegan is a fine looking male.”

  Blushing, Lana refused to comment.

  “Keegan told us he believes the Gods and Goddesses have blessed you. He has convinced your father and I he will care and provide for you and we have given him permission to handfast with you.”

  Lana wondered if he also happened to mention he was fey born. She met her mother’s blue eyes and thought not.

  “You have always told me to keep the birthmark hidden. Does this birthmark make me special now?”

  “Your… your rather has always believed it to be the mark of darkness and I never went against him.”

  “Is that what you believe?” she inquired.

  “Nay, I believe as Keegan does, that you are blessed by the Gods and Goddesses.”

  “I wish you had told me.”

  “I wish I had too, Alana child, but it is done. Now I need to know if you have mated with Keegan.”

  Lana choked. “Nay,” she said.

  “So he has touched but not taken.”

  Blushing profusely now, she nodded, her body tingling in remembrance of his touch, his mouth…

  “Then let us speak of intimate things.”

  Lana averted her gaze.

  “Keegan is full grown and probably has much experience. Methinks he knows to be slow and gentle with a virgin maiden when planting a seed in her belly. Daughter, look at me.”

  Lana lifted her gaze. Her mother conveniently forgot her moon time came but rarely and the simpler said she could not bear children without threat to her life.

  “The mating hurts the first time, sharp and quick. Doona fight him. His root may seem threatening at first, but soon you will learn the passion of him and ride him well. Do you understand?”

  She gave a quick nod, opened her mouth and then closed it shut like a fish.

  “Do you wish to say something, my daughter?”

  Lana swallowed and then asked her question. “Do you think Keegan fey born?”

  “Fey born? Nay, I have seen no amethyst marker in his eyes. Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged.

  “Alana child.” Her mother reached across the table and caressed her cheek. “Talk to me.”

  “Keegan does not know the weakness that lives in my heart,” she mumbled instead, her palm resting on her breast.

  “There is no need for him to know.”

  “ ‘Tis not truthful. The not telling feels like a lie to me.”

  “‘Tis not a lie and ‘tis a verra small weakness, Alana.”

  Her mother’s eyes rilled with tears. “You are so beautiful and full of spirit like our fey brethren. I think most of our males are afraid to come near you for fear of rejection.”

  A painful ache settled in her breast.

  “Keegan is a bold warrior and has seen the wonder and truth of you. This should be a happy time for you.”

  “I am happy.”

  “You doona look happy.”

  Lana pasted a smile on her face and her mother laughed again, shaking her head. “After the wedding night, this fear that grips you will subside. Then you will know the fullness and ardent mating with your mate. ‘Tis a wonderful…”

  “Would you like me to help you mix the honey with the milk?” Lana interjected.

  Her mother took the hint. “Nay, daughter. I would like you to finish your chores and then visit the druidess as she wishes to speak with you.”

  Lana stood and kissed her mother on the cheek, glad to end this conversation. Turning, she started to walk away when her mother called her name softly.

  “Alana.”

  Pausing, she looked expectantly over her shoulder. “I know you have always wished to be found valuable and worthy in our tribe. Because of how frail you look, few have given you the chance.”

  She had not known her mother understood.

  “Keegan values you and finds you worthy.”

  “I know,” she replied for her mother’s benefit. “I love you.”

  “And I you. Now go, my daughter, for I have much to do this day before the handfasting ceremony tomorrow.”

  Lana strode out of her family’s home and prepared to do her chores before visiting with the druidess.

  ———

  A small meadow spread out before him, the la
te afternoon sunlight washing the grass in a blaze of gold. Behind Derina’s home, Keegan practiced with his double-edged sword, mortal skills he felt would serve him well in the journey to come. He held his weapon up to the sunlight for inspection. It was simple and well made, the handle crafted from solid wood and flanked with a bronze guard to protect the hand. The blade flowed just under the length of a man’s arm and the blood grooves on either side were crafted well. It suited him, a fey guardian who must be able to defend a claíomh host both in the fey and mortal places.

  His gaze slid to the lone, bow-legged cow standing beneath the rowan tree. He supposed the druidess would be asking him for a bull next.

  Turning to lay the sword upon the old wooden table behind him, he was unprepared for the cutting slap across his cheek.

  “They doona know you are fey born!” his fair one cried, her voice hurtful to his sensitive ears.

  He stumbled back in shock, unable to respond. He simply stared at her, no outward change to his features, his breathing under control, yet inside, inside… his very existence had been ripped out from under him.

  She surprised him.

  Surprised html

  It took a moment for Lana to see what she had done. A slash of red blood dripped down his right cheek where she hit him, open handed, and with full force. Why did he bleed? she wondered, staring at his cheek. Red blood? He did not bleed the white blood of the faeries? And why was he bleeding at all? She did not have a blade in her hand when she hit him.

  “Your anger slashes deeply, claíomh host.”

  She glared up at him. “I dinna mean to hurt you.”

  “Did you not?”

  “You lied to my family!” she accused, feeling shame for hitting him, yet knowing he deserved it.

  “I dinna lie.”

  “Did you tell them what you are, guardian?” she demanded, her fists clenched at her side.

  He shook his head slowly.

  “Not telling is like lying,” she said tightly.

  “Not telling is lying?” he questioned in an inquisitive tone as if he did not know it.

  “Aye!” she exclaimed, and felt a wave of guilt at her own secret.

  “You know what I am. Why did you not tell them?” he asked quietly, his eyes watchful beneath the long dark lashes. Ice and fever battled there, emotions he kept hidden and closed off.