“It is my concern,” he said tightly. He felt himself drowning in her dark eyes.
“Has it been your concern?” she inquired, her tone gracious. “I dinna know.”
“Aye,” he ground out, wanting to say so much more, but the words lodged in his throat.
She looked away when he did not continue.
Was unable to continue.
“Valor wishes to return to the High King Nuada immediately. She senses the threat and the selfishness that comes.”
“I will deliver her to the High King,” he promised, regaining his composure.
“My thanks, Keegan.” Her lashes lowered. “You are most honorable.”
He stared at her trembling lips, feeling his insides rip apart.
She started to fade.
“Stop, Lana. Stay with me!”
She looked up, barely there, a filmy presence only.
His body shuddered, the surge of love for her nearly devastating in its intensity.
“Lana,” he said hoarsely, unable to say what he truly felt. I love you.
She searched his face. “Keegan.” Tears formed in her eyes, raining down her cheeks like tiny crystals.
With a trembling hand, she reached out to him.
He leaned toward her, hungry for the feel of her fingertips on his face one last time.
Passion rekindled, arcing like lightning between them.
Yearning.
Wanting.
So desperately…
Then she dropped her hand and turned away, stiffening.
Keegan stared at her lovely profile. How had he allowed it to end this way?
She turned slightly to him, her brow creased in worry.
“Lana, what is it?”
She blinked, her face set in distress.
“Lana, what is it?” he demanded. “Tell me.”
She shook her head. Her eyes wide, tears spilling down her cheeks like a waterfall, he heard her cry out in his mind, and then only silence.
She dissolved, merely the whisper of her sweet breath lingering to taunt him.
She was gone.
He sat back, his gaze dropping. Lying beside the enchanted sword were two dragonfly cuffs, the swirling filigree stunningly silver against the backdrop of black stone.
Valor had not even allowed her to keep the gifts of the water fey.
He flung his head back and roared, the anguish inside him venting so all the lands knew of his grief.
He fell forward on his arms, his head bent, his hair a brown shroud about him.
The pain of loss rose in his chest. He moaned, his hands fisting in front of him.
Gone.
As if she never walked the land.
Never breathed the air.
Never lay by his side.
He breathed raggedly for a time and then lifted his head with effort.
The dark sword Valor waited for him, perfect in its hardness and cutting luminosity.
He blinked once to clear his vision and took in a struggling breath, not looking at the dragonfly cuffs, all traces of sorrow and loss forced deep inside.
Pushing up, he straightened.
He was a guardian of the waters, he reminded himself, a great, powerful, and unemotional being.
He reached for the sword’s hilt.
He must do what he had promised to do.
As his fair one had done.
Fingers wrapped around the grip of spiral-cut bone.
Immediately, he felt a physically powerful presence and immeasurable strength enter his arm. The blade was longer and lighter than other blades, able to reach the enemy quicker, he surmised. Holding the sword up, he peered into the sheen of the blade, hoping to see his beloved’s face. Forged of a metal he had never seen before, it reflected nothing, not even his own countenance. The diamond cross-section did not even have a blood groove.
With a single thrust upward, he sheathed it into the scabbard on his back.
Disquiet, emanating from the sword, clung to his flesh. It was a dark conjuring barely contained, and within it he felt her presence.
With the back of his left hand, he wiped the tears from his cheek, amazed to find his face damp. He had no right to love her, no right to love that which the sword spirit claimed at birth.
He looked at the unconscious young woman lying on her side. Lana said her name was Glenna.
A blue gown draped her slender form; her face was turned away. He knelt near her shoulder. Tiny gold and silver beads, woven into thick blond hair, fell across her cheek and nose, hiding her features.
“Glenna?”
Gently, he lifted a thick curl from the young woman’s face and froze. Glenna was a like image of Lana, the same pale skin, the same oval shape of the face, the same light brown lashes.
“Glenna,” he said tenderly, “I am going to take you somewhere safe.”
Not a sound did she make to acknowledge him, this innocent who had suffered so much because of another’s whim.
She looked hollow and vacant, her very life essence drained out of her.
He scooped her up in his arms and stood. She was feather-light, her head rolling listlessly to the side. The bronze bracelets on her wrists and ankles chimed softly. With a bitter detachment, he observed the carnage he had wrought.
Valor.
Lana.
He had succeeded in saving only one.
Nay, he thought. His fair one succeeded.
Now he must do his part.
With a lingering glance at Lana’s dragonfly cuffs, he closed his eyes and envisioned the druidess’s small cottage. He winked out, leaving only the shimmering shards of his fey presence behind to settle and disperse upon her cuffs.
———
Night and peril approached the lands of the Tuatha Dé Danann and Keegan knew he had little time left to deliver Valor to his king. Transforming to his mortal self, he walked out of the waning shadows of the moon and stood in front of the entranceway of the druidess’s cottage.
Gazing down at the pail of water, he called her name quietly. “Derina?”
“Here, guardian,” she replied from somewhere within. “Come in. I have been expecting you. What have you brought me?”
Shifting sideways so as not to bump Glenna’s head, he walked into the warm candlelit glow of the cottage.
“Lana?” the druidess asked, wearing brown druidess’s robes. She peered up at him, her white hair a tumbled mess of beads and dried rosemary.
He shook his head and her empty eye sockets crinkled in a frown.
“Lay the girl there then,” she directed, pointing to the bed in the back.
With the ancient following in her shuffling gait, Keegan walked to the back of the round house and gently eased his burden onto a bed of white and brown pelts. Streaks of amber moonlight fell across the girl’s waist from the open shutters behind him.
He moved back to make room for the druidess.
“Who be this woman-child, guardian?”
“Her name is Glenna,” he replied. “She is the first claíomh host and I must ask you to care for her, Derina.”
The druidess continued to scrutinize the young woman. “The first sword host, do you say?” She scratched her cheek. “She doona look fey to me.”
“She is no longer fey. Valor freed her. She is the first granddaughter of the sorceress.”
Derina nodded in understanding. “So that olden tale of the host being not of faery blood be true then.”
“So it seems,” he said softly.
She pulled a large brown pelt over the young woman, tucking her bare feet under. “Wait for me in the other room, guardian.” She gestured for him to leave.
Confident of the druidess’s caring, he returned to the main room. Stepping around the center fire, he walked back toward the doorway and leaned a weary shoulder against the sturdy doorframe. Folding his arms across his chest, he waited, impatient to be on his way.
The druidess soon joined him, no doubt sensing his urgency.
&nbs
p; “How is she?” he asked.
“Verra weak. Let us see what rest and my food will do.”
“Will she die?”
The druidess tugged at her hair, trying to establish some order with the strands. “Methinks it be too early to say. I will do my best.”
“Call the simpler if you need help. This girl is entrusted into my care.”
She waved a hand in his face. “As you wish. Tell me where be our Lana?”
Keegan looked away, unable to answer, silence falling like a heavy rain about him.
“Be that Valor you carry on your back then?” the ancient asked after a time, touching his arm.
He nodded.
“Valor has taken Lana?”
“Aye,” he replied.
“I am sorry for both of you.”
He looked back at her. “You knew that I would love her?”
“Aye, you had but to open your eyes to see it.”
He turned away once more. “You said you were expecting me.”
“Has your grief blocked all your fey senses, guardian?” she inquired with an edge to her tone.
Frowning, he pushed away from the doorframe.
“Look west,” she directed, “and tell me what you feel?”
He looked outside to the clear bright night and luminous white stars.
By the white moon! The battle between his king and the invader had already begun.
Reaching for Valor, he winked out.
CHAPTER 17
WITHIN THE GLOW OF A newborn sun, a long and bloody battle raged, the stink of death simmering in the air from the night before.
Hours earlier, Keegan winked into the fray gripping Valor’s hilt in both hands. Immediately he transformed to his mortal self, the fey wings an encumbrance in the closely fought battle. He began hacking and slashing violently through swords, daggers, spears, and flesh, all the while searching for his king.
The Formorians lived mainly on the sea. They were a horde of sea raiders, an ugly race from the offshore islands who wished to lay claim upon Eire. Led by the vain Bress, they came from beyond the extreme northwest to invade and plunder. Forces of cruelty and oppression, they ruled over their conquests with a tyrannical hand, demanding tributes and taxes.
They were a flood of darkness and they would not rule here.
Never would they rule while he still had breath in his body.
He had to find his king and was increasingly alarmed that he could not sense him.
Valor’s fierce strength radiated into his hands and up his arms and shoulders. The boundaries between enchantment, fey, and mortal physicality waned. He became a bringer of death, a weapon of utter destruction. For many hours, he fought without mercy against greater odds until at last he saw the fey warrior Lugh wielding Answerer, the great faery talisman. Surrounded by the enemy, Lugh stood in mortal form, draped in the color of red blood over their fallen king, Nuada. Keegan pushed his way through, a grave torment setting in. Had he arrived too late?
“HE BE DEAD, RAIN,” Lugh called out. “TAKE VALOR AND FORCE THESE INVADERS BACK TO THE SEA.”
Keegan did not hesitate. Emotions gone into nothingness inside him, he slashed and cut his way to triumph until finally the battle was over.
A sun of fading crimson hung low in the sky, leaving behind ribbons of scarlet light on the last day of the foul invasion. The Tuatha Dé Danann had defended Eire with perseverance and won.
Keegan felt no joy, no satisfaction. He stood beside their mortal brethren because he must. It was as simple as that. Whatever emotions, whatever passions he once yearned for were gone.
It was better not to feel, he thought, his right hand tightening around Valor’s grip. He looked around. Death was everywhere, the blood of diminishing lives returning to the black soil. Bodies twitched here and there, a clinging to the misery of life before death’s final claim. Pockets of flies gathered, and he turned away.
Men walked around him, faces showing the exhaustion of a hard won victory. The tribe of the Tuatha Dé Danann had fought courageously under their chieftain. The fey fought daringly as well, except they no longer had a high king to serve. Nuada died at the edge of the enemy’s blade before he had been able to reach him. Keegan ran a hand through his hair. He had failed.
He felt the dull edges of shame grind into him and looked down at Valor. Not a drop of blood stained the enchanted blade. It shined as if never encountering flesh, bone, or sinew, but he knew better.
He heard footfalls come up behind him and glanced over his shoulder.
“RAIN.”
Keegan nodded to the warrior faery. “Lugh.”
They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, drinking in the brief silence. Both were half-clothed and barefoot. Torn breeches clung to their muscular legs. Straps crossed their bare chests, holding scabbards on their broad backs. Both held a magical fey sword in their right hands.
“SOONER YOU SHOULD HAVE COME, RAIN.”
“I should have,” he agreed.
“WHERE DID YOU FIND VALOR?” Lugh asked.
“Dowth.”
“WHO TOOK HER?”
“Cadman, a half-blood spriggan-mortal.”
The warrior faery looked at him in doubt. “NEVER HAVE I HEARD OF A CREATURE SUCH AS THIS.”
“Nor will you ever again. Bress promised the spriggan abomination treasures if he stole Valor. There were other followers; they are no more.”
The warrior faery understood. “BLODENWEDD SAID YOU FOUND A CLAÍOMH HOST IN THE VILLAGE.”
“Aye,” Keegan agreed.
“SHE DINNA GUIDE YOU FAST ENOUGH,” the warrior faery said in blunt criticism.
“My failing, not hers,” he replied tersely.
“AS YOU WISH.”
“Did my king die bravely?” Keegan questioned.
“QUICKLY AND BRAVELY.”
“A brave death is preferable to a sick or weak life.” Immediately, he regretted his words and felt the untruth of such an intolerable statement. Once he thought the physically weak worthless, but no longer. Lana taught him the right of it. She had been born with a weak heart and an unwell body, but her unconquerable and resolute spirit belonged to that of a highborn faery queen. He could hold her in no higher regard and respect. She was his fey queen and always would be. Her inner strength had surprised him. Sometimes even the weakest were stronger inside their spirit than even the most physically strong, if given a chance to prove themselves. She taught him that. Never again would he judge a being only by the outward appearance.
Black crows flew across the battlefield. All those still whole and living looked up to watch their eerie passage.
“ ‘TIS OVER,” Lugh said after a while.
“Not yet,” Keegan rumbled in a low voice of objection.
“WE FIND BRESS SOON,” his fey warrior companion promised, and moved away to continue his inspection. Keegan suspected he had just spoken with the next high king of the faeries.
He remained where he was, in the center of the battlefield.
He had discarded his tunic long ago and wiped the caked blood from his right forearm across his hip.
His fingers tightened around Valor’s hilt, his flesh almost one with the enchanted blade. He did not want to let go, did not want to release her.
He felt Lana’s essence and Valor’s strength and power.
Valor.
Lana.
Valor.
Lana.
They were one and the same now. He must learn to respect that. His lips twisted. In all the years left to him, he would forever remember the beautiful dark eyes of his beloved.
It came as a smothering wave of grief upon him, sudden and uncontrollable. His left hand clutched at his heart and his breath came out harshly.
“Lana,” he groaned. “Forgive me.” He had loved, a brief and wondrous passing he had been too dull-witted to acknowledge.
He closed his eyes, battling for control.
He missed her.
Lashes lifting, he shied away f
rom the overwhelming pang of loss. He had fought for many days, his mind and heart locked in blankness. He wished for the blankness again.
The enemy had fallen. The few who remained fled back to their boats, but the one he most wanted was not among them.
He wanted Bress.
He wanted to squeeze the life out of him with his bare hands and make him suffer.
He inhaled the scent of the newly dead, strands of brown hair fluttering across his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement, a glint of metal behind an ancient tree in the low meadows near the loch.
He stilled, giving no clue he noticed.
There, it came again.
Silver and movement.
He bolted toward it, careful to stay in mortal form and not bring attention to his feyness. Dodging around several men of the Tuatha Dé Danann, he came upon the thick trunked oak, her green leaves fluttering in the end of day breeze.
Nothing.
He looked toward the shining waters of the loch and saw a man with long blond hair running across the low meadows beyond.
His lips pulled back in a predatory sneer. He set out after him at a dead run.
It did not take him long to reach the coward. With a quick swipe of the sword, he sliced open the man’s right thigh. His prey yelped in surprise and pain, tumbling down upon himself in the slippery grasses.
When the man rolled to a stop on his back, Keegan walked up to him. He was surprised at the youthfulness of the face staring up at him in horror. He remembered the deceitful tyrant as being older.
The young man’s eyes darted to Valor in fearful recognition.
Keegan slowly smiled and held the sword up for his enemy’s benefit.
“Valor,” he said in icy menace. “I believe you wanted her.”
The young man’s breath hitched in terror and he scrambled back on all fours, leaving his sword and dagger behind.
Keegan bared his teeth, fey amethyst replacing the silver gray in his eyes.
“Nay!” his enemy bawled, holding up his right hand in front of his face as if bone would deflect Valor.
Slicing his head off would be too easy. In the next breath, Keegan flipped Valor into the scabbard across his back. Instantly, the strength that had radiated up his arm permeated into his back and shoulders, but he was too engaged to notice.
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