Now he wanted to live and love as any other man did, cherishing the woman at his side. Godrod stepped back, giving them privacy to share this moment.
“You lied about something else, Katla,” he said, kissing her mouth. “When we joined in the truthspeaking, I heard a story told about the Old Ones and about standing stones in the west of Scotland. You did learn something of my origins, just not enough to understand.”
“Do you think we can find your brothers? Find out if they survived the curse of their gift as you did?”
Gavin thought on the other things the Sith told him in his thoughts, things Katla had not heard. “I know a way,” he said. “But we must try it before the moon sets.”
“Here?” she asked. “Now?”
“My powers are strongest on the anniversary of my birth and during the full moon,” he explained, repeating what the Sith had told him silently.
“’Tis that night and the moon is yet full….” Her words faded off and she nodded.
Soon the sound of their passion filled the circle, and if it took several times to learn how to control his power and to send it out in search of his brothers, neither complained.
Epilogue
Oidhche Shamhna (Samhain Night)
One year later
During the months after that fateful night, the Truthsayer disappeared and the man lived. Haakon sent news of Gavin’s death to Harald and the earl and emptied everything that had been Gavin’s out of the cave and the cottage. Though she’d used much of the money gained by selling her jewelry, Katla had more than enough to support them for many, many years.
They changed their names and moved south, searching for Gavin’s brothers. The clue she had linking the stone circles to the Sith led them to more knowledge, though most of it was in folktales and the wisdom of the elders of clans and families along the coast. With each full moon, Gavin sent out his power, listening for any sign of his brothers. He had no success, but they both hoped that the anniversary of his birth would prove an auspicious day for him.
The bairn, a boy as the Sith had declared, was born at the beginning of August, and they called him Callum in the fashion of the Gaels because his grandmother came from there. One night after his birth, Gavin summoned his father, using the name that had power over him. Katla held the babe, fearful of handing him over to such a being, but Gavin assured her no harm would come to their son.
The Sith had touched his head to the babe’s and sniffed. “Human and Sith, he will be called…”
Whatever the name was, she could not comprehend or repeat it, but Gavin did. The strangest thing was the way the babe smiled at his grandfather and father as though he understood the name, too. Katla suspected this would be the first of many things that would be between father and son because of the Sith nature they shared.
Now though, the night approached and Katla had left the babe at their farm with the servant who cared for him while she accompanied Gavin into the woods. They’d discovered not a circle of stones but a few ancient markers left behind about a mile from their farm. Gavin tugged her along, and they arrived just as the moon rose. Not a full moon this year, but Samhain night still held a certain magic for him.
He spread his cloak on the ground for them, but when he began to kiss her beside the largest of the stones, they forgot all about it. Gavin lifted her in his arms and guided her down on his erect cock. Leaning her back against the stone’s surface, he thrust deeply into her flesh, rocking in and out until she felt the rippling spasms begin at her core. She kissed him just before the release was upon her and urged him to hurry.
As his seed began to spill, the power surged through both of them, lifting them from their place and letting them soar in the air above. Night became day as they journeyed along the coast of Scotland. Gavin leaned his head back and listened for a familiar voice, seeking it and following it south to the glen of Kilmartin, where they saw a man who looked much like Gavin. He called out his name to them as they passed.
“Connor!” they said together.
Gavin pulled her along, and Katla laughed at the feeling of such freedom and the sight of the land from above like this. She did not know how it happened, but she trusted Gavin to keep her safe. They moved farther west, across the water, until they reached the large isle of Skye. The view of it became hazy then, but a castle sat above the shoreline and there, on the battlements, stood his other brother.
“Duncan!” they called out together, watching as he faded into the mist of the power.
They came back into themselves in that moment, and Katla felt the last spasms of her release and his within her. Gavin smiled then and laughed. “I know where they are!” He kissed her again and again and the joy and love spread through them.
Soon they did use that cloak, and by the time the sun rose in the morning sky, their pleasure and love surrounded them like a storm, keeping them safe and becoming stronger with each moment.
Kilmartin Glen, southwestern Scotland
Oidhche Shamhna (Samhain Night)
Connor awoke with a start in the middle of the night. After the hours he’d spent making love with Moira, he should be sleeping as soundly as she was. But something, someone, had interrupted his rest by calling out his name. Just as he was sinking back into sleep’s grasp, he heard it again.
And he knew what it meant and who called to him using the power they’d inherited from their Sith father. Smiling, he shook Moira gently, knowing she would be furious if he knew and did not share the knowledge with her.
“Connor, is something wrong?” she asked, turning into his embrace in their bed. Even waking from a sound sleep, her voice lured him into passion. Would he ever tire of her?
“I heard him again, Moira.” He kissed her head and held her tightly at his side. “My brother.”
She awoke then, pushing herself up to sit. “Your brother? Truly? Could you tell which one?”
“Aye, the one called Gavin. He searches for me and for Duncan even now.”
“So he lives?” She kissed him and smiled. “Can you guide him to us? Or us to him?”
Before he could speak, her hand encircled his cock and he choked. “’Tis still Samhain and you know about your powers on Samhain night, Connor.”
He would love her until he died and probably even beyond that, for her love and her enthusiasm never waned.
“Aye, wife, I know about my powers.” He guided her hand into a pleasing rhythm, and then he reached over to touch between her legs, feeling the arousal of her body and the heat awaiting him there. She slid down next to him then, the sounds of her pleasure warming his blood.
“Call forth your visions, Seer,” she commanded using the name his father had called him, the name she had learned. “Call forth your visions.”
Samhain proved his powers once again, and in the morning, he knew where to find Gavin.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The cave where Gavin lived, called Smûga by the Norse, is found on the northwest coast of Scotland in the area known as Sutherland. It is partially a sea cave and a karst cave, carved into the cliffs by the action of the waves and a river that eroded holes into the limestone over eons. There is archaeological evidence from a variety of time periods showing that humans have lived in it. Viking artifacts have been uncovered, too.
I found Smoo Cave by accident while researching for this story. As I wrote the ending of A Storm of Passion, I learned that the second brother lived by the sea, in a large cave that opened to the north toward Orkney. In trying to find if such a location existed, I found references to Smoo Cave, and while in Scotland in 2009, I was able to visit the cave. It is wildly fascinating—huge, made of many chambers, with a waterfall and river running through it to the sea. And when I stood between the crashing waterfall and the opening of the cave to the sea, I could hear very little except the rushing water.
It was perfect! There were chambers of different sizes that went back into the limestone—some damp and cold, some dryer but still cold! There were “bl
owholes” in the ceiling, open to the ground above. It was exactly as I’d seen in my mind as the place where Gavin seeks refuge, so I took lots of photos and used them to describe the cave in this story. I just love it when real history works out the way I want and need it to for my stories!
The ring of standing stones that I describe in this story as being near Durness is of my own making, though Scotland and its northern and western isles are rife with circles and henges and burial cairns and chambered tombs…and filled with places that echo back to a time when sith or fae magic still glimmered in the highlands and islands. And the strange, eerie feeling of being watched that crept down my spine as I walked the stones at Callanish and Brodgar and Stenness, and explored the burial chambers at Maes Howe, Mine Howe, and the Tomb of the Eagles told me that there is much, much more about these places than we will ever know.
I have adapted some of the real history of the times and places and adjusted some historical events and people (like shifting the reigns of Earl, later Saint, Magnus and the Norse King Magnus Barelegs) to fit my story. I beg the indulgence of anyone who notices such things.
Please visit my website (www.terribrisbin.com) to see some photos I took on my 2009 trip to Scotland, including Smoo Cave, Orkney, Skye, and Mull. Happy Reading!
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Griff’s train of thought was abruptly broken by a loud yelp coming from somewhere in the rear of the small shop, followed by a ringing crash of what sounded like metal on metal.
He gritted his teeth against the renewed ringing inside his own head, even as he called out in the ensuing silence. “Hullo? Are you in need of some assistance?”
What followed was a stream of very…colorful language that surprised a quick smile from him. He’d found Americans, at least the ones of his immediate acquaintance, to be a bit obsessed with political correctness, always worrying what others might think. So it was somewhat refreshing, to hear such an…uncensored reaction. He assumed the string of epithets wasn’t a response to his query, but then he’d never met the proprietor.
He debated heading around the counter to see if she might need help, then checked the action. “No need to engage an angry female unless absolutely necessary,” he murmured, tipping up onto his toes and looking behind the counter, on the off chance he might spy the pot of coffee. “Ah,” he said, on seeing a double burner positioned beside an empty, tiered glass case.
He fished out his wallet and put a ten note on the counter, more than enough to cover the cost of a single cup, then ducked under the counter and scanned the surface for a stack of insulated cups. Oversized, sky blue mugs with the shop’s white and pink cupcake logo printed on one side and the name on the other, were lined up next to the machine. He didn’t think she’d take too kindly to his leaving with one of those.
“Making an angry female even angrier…never a good thing.” His mouth lifted again as a few more, rather unique invectives floated from the back of the shop. “Points for creativity, however.”
He glanced at his watch, saw he still had some time, and took a moment to roll his neck, shake out his shoulders, and relax his jaw. He could feel the tension tightening him up, which was a fairly common state of late. But he’d never been so close to realizing his every dream. He fished out the small airline-sized tube of pain relievers he’d bought when he’d landed. Upon popping it open, he discovered there was only one tablet left. He shrugged and dry swallowed it.
He crouched down to look under the counter and had just opened a pair of cupboard doors when he felt a presence behind him.
“May I help you with something?”
Hmm. Angry female, immediately south of his wide open back. He was fairly certain there were sharp knives within reach. Not the best strategy he’d ever employed.
Already damned, he reached inside the cupboard and slid a large insulated cup from the stack, snagging a plastic lid as well, before gently closing the doors and straightening up. “Just looking for a cup,” he said as he turned, a careful smile on his face.
The smile froze as he got his first look at the cupcake baker.
He wasn’t normally taken to poetic thought, but there he stood, thinking her clear, almost luminescent skin made her wide, dark blue eyes look like twin pools of endlessly deep, midnight waters. It was surprisingly difficult to keep from looking away, every self-protective instinct he had being triggered by her steady hold on his gaze, which was rather odd. She was the village baker. Despite the tirade he’d just overheard, he doubted anyone who made baking cheerful little cakes her life’s work would be a threat or obstacle to his mission. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, lifting the cup so she could see what he’d been about. “You sounded a bit…occupied, back there.”
“Yes, a little problem with a collapsed rolling rack.”
His gaze, held captive as it was, used the time to quickly take in the rest of her. Thick, curling hair almost the same rich brown as the steaming hot brew he’d yet to sip had been pulled up in an untidy knot on the back of her head, exposing a slender length of neck, and accentuating her delicate chin. All of which combined to showcase a pair of unpainted, full, dark pink lips that, even when not smiling, curved oh-so-naturally into the kind of perfect bow that all but begged a man to part them, taste them, bite them, and…
He looked away. Damn. He couldn’t recall his body ever leaping to attention like that, after a single look. No matter how direct. Especially when his attentions were clearly not being encouraged in any way, if the firm set of her delicate chin was any indication.
“Nothing too serious, I hope,” he said, boldly turning his back to her and helping himself to a cup of coffee. After all, he’d paid for it. Not that she was aware of it as yet. But he thought it better to risk her mild displeasure until he could point that out…rather than engage more of the fury he’d heard coming from the back of the shop minutes ago—which he was fairly certain would be the case if her sharp gaze took in the current state of the front of his trousers.
“Nothing another five hours of baking time won’t resolve,” she said, a bit of weariness creeping into her tone. From the corner of his eye, he caught her wiping her hands on the flour covered front of her starched white baker’s jacket. “Please, allow me.”
He quickly topped off the cup and snapped on the lid. “Not to worry. I believe I’ve got it. I left a ten note on your counter.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “It’s been…a morning. I’m generally not so—”
“It’s fine,” he said, intending to skirt past her and duck back to the relative safety of the other side of the counter. The tall, trouser-concealing counter. He just needed a moment, preferably with her not in touching distance, so he could button his coat and allow himself a bit of recovery time. It seemed all he had to do was look at her for his current state to remain…elevated.
Unfortunately for him, and the comfort level of his trousers, she moved closer and reached past him. “The sugar is here and I have fresh cream in the—”
“I take it black,” he said abruptly, then they both turned the same way, trapping her between the counter…and him.
Her gaze honed in on his once again, but he was the one holding hers captive.
“Okay,” she said, her voice no longer strident. In fact, the single word had been a wee bit…breathy.
“Indeed,” he murmured, once again caught up in that mouth of hers. Those parted lips simply demanded a man pay them far more focused attention. Step away, Gallagher, he counseled himself. Sip your coffee, gather your wits, and move on.
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Connor’s level of confiden
ce where his younger siblings were concerned was quite a bit lower than his declaration made it sound.
Did he wish he had the power to influence Liam and Maeve’s attitudes and actions? Certainly.
Had he had any success in doing so thus far? Not even remotely. And nothing that had happened in recent memory made him think he ever would.
But sitting across from the lovely Jillian Parker—the events planner Angelina had sent to help keep his holiday from becoming a complete and abysmal failure—he suddenly felt the need to preen…or at least to act as though being the patriarch of his family carried some weight with his unruly brother and sister.
Angelina had told him Jillian was good at what she did. His longtime friend had apparently attended several events that Jillian’s company had organized, and had been quite impressed.
What Angelina hadn’t told him was that Jillian Parker was hot with a capital H and two Ts.
From the moment Randall had opened the door and invited her in…from the moment he’d stepped out of the library and sniffed the air, he’d known she wouldn’t be just another random woman drifting in and out of his life. She smelled of peaches and cream and just hint of honey, all of which seeped into his pores and set his blood on fire.
It had been all he could do to walk calmly across the foyer to introduce himself. To take her hand instead of her mouth.
He hadn’t been able to resist slipping his middle and index fingers over the inside of her wrist, however, to feel her pulse. To feel the beat of her heart in the one, slim vein, and the heat of her life’s blood that called to his own.
Having her here, working in his home, was going to be an experience, that was for sure. And an exercise in self-control; something he’d always prided himself on…but now couldn’t be entirely certain of.
Her blond hair was swept up in a loose knot at the back of her head, a few wisps falling free to frame her heart-shaped face and dust the pulse at her neck. He could see the gentle throb on both sides, even with the short distance that separated them.
A Storm of Pleasure Page 20