“Fergus, come present yourself,” Tamlin called.
Fighting a queasy stomach and all his heightened senses, Fagan approached the riser, completely expecting to face a challenge from Cu Roi mac Daire.
“Fergus is the Highland warrior I was telling you about,” Tamlin said to the queen and her guest. “Queen Aoife of Ulaid recruited and trained him herself as a gift for Queen Mab.”
To have what transpired between him and Aoife, the love that had grown between them reduced to the purpose of presenting him as a gift, cut him deep. Queen. That meant she’d married mac Daire. Before the eyes of god and the law, she was rightfully his.
“He’ll do,” the guest said, a grim smile spreading on his lips. “He’ll do nicely.”
Chapter 10
Aoife
Aoife turned to a quiet knock on her door. Thinking it was the brownie come to dress her for the feast Roi was holding in Aoife’s honor, she smiled. She had much to plot with the lass. She would use the brownie as her eyes and ears.
“You may enter.”
The door opened hesitantly, Roi coming in. “Are ye decent?”
Even better, Aoife thought. She had wanted a chance alone with him. She’d decided she would play nice with Roi so she could put a divide between him and the priestess. “Aye. But ye know I don’t understand what that means for a human.”
A shy laugh rumbled in Roi’s chest. He scratched his head. “Suppose not.” His gaze slid over her dressing gown and he frowned.
Aoife tossed her wild mane of curls and set a hand on her hip, positioning herself so that the light would show off her silhouette under the thin white undergarment. “Am I not pleasing to ye, my king?”
Several emotions passed over his face: confusion, suspicion, and finally lust. “No.”
She arched an eyebrow. “No? Do ye fancy that priestess?”
“No.” He shook his head softly chuckling. “Ye know the very sight of ye stirs passion in me, Aoife.” He sighed. “I thought we would at least have that, but now ye play games and I have troubles.”
“Troubles?” She maneuvered closer.
“Aye. Yer maid, the halfling? I was hoping she was with ye. The head maid of the castle said she hasn’t reported for her duties since…since the ritual.”
“That was days ago.” Aoife’s stomach knotted. She’d had other maids come in and out and thought it was Roi punishing Aoife for nearly ruining the ritual. Did the brownie try to run without her?
“When her mistress ran off, I promised to protect that lass as part of my household. If ye know something, say something. The menfolk of these lands aren’t always kind to the lesser fae and the Fomorians; ye know what they’ll do to her.”
Aoife licked her lips. “She was upset about the cottar lad. He was a lover of hers, I think. She hadn’t a clue that he wasn’t dying…but rather transforming into a Fomorian to protect these lands. She believed ye gained some benefit, that it wasn’t fer yer kingdom. I think she may have, in her grief, decided to run back to the faerie whence she came.”
Roi considered this. “Aye. Let’s hope she made it there. Without a ward—” His broad shoulders shuddered. “Bláthnat must have fed her head with stories. I knew my former wife loathed me because I’m not as handsome as Cuchulainn, the king I’m ashamed to say that she left me for, but I did not know her hatred would run so deep she’d find a way to make up falsehoods.”
Aoife realized there was no way Bláthnat could have witnessed the ritual firsthand. The Fomorian would have sensed her magic and went after her. The priestess was right.
Roi turned to her window, looking out. With his back to Aoife, he asked in a quiet voice, “How do I make things the way they were between us?”
“Ye could start with the truth. Ye wanted to marry me because my sight can help ye glean who ye can and cannot trust, not because ye felt fer me. Ye followed me all the way to Mab’s court because I am useful to ye.”
He turned slowly, his gaze intense as he fixated on her.
She remembered how his head would drown everything else out when they were together, how his feelings for her and what he wanted for them were his only thoughts. All those encounters between them that she’d pushed out of her mind to forget the pain of when he betrayed her and made a fool of her in front of all her people.
“Is that what ye believe? Use yer sight now.”
Aoife drew closer. Roi allowed her to touch his face. She saw their brief and torrid courtship through his eyes. How much he longed for her. How much he adored her. Adored her still. How pained he was when she ran. How he worried for her as he searched, worried someone had poisoned and killed her. He blamed himself.
She dropped her hand.
“If yer sight were the only reason, yer own father said to choose from any of yer sisters after ye left. I didn’t want them, Aoife.”
“Ye needed me to find yer wife.”
“She was never my wife, not truly.”
Roi took her hand and placed it on the smooth skin of his cheek. His eyes teared as he let her see the painful rejections of Bláthnat. His attempts to please her, to make her want a life here in Ulaid. Aoife could have told him a stolen bride would never be a willing one.
“I thought it was because I took her from her father. I even offered to return her to Mend, but she refused. She was already in love with Cuchulainn and was only here to learn my secrets so that he may have them.”
She almost pitied mac Daire. His first and now his second wife were in love with another. Almost. Roi knew she no longer felt for him, yet he kept her trapped here instead of taking her home and attempting to woo her again in a place where she had some choice. Aoife tucked her anger away.
“I want to be able to roam the castle and the grounds freely. I want to meet my sisters at the shore. I’ll feel less like a prisoner and more like a wife.”
“My castle and its grounds are yers. However, if ye want to go beyond that, I’ll need to accompany you…fer yer safety.”
“I would prefer ye to come with me.” She and her sisters could speak telepathically. He would hear only good things out loud and the truth kept between siblings.
Roi reared his head at this. “Truly?”
Aoife smiled. “Aye. I’d like my sisters to see my husband protects me and sees to my happiness.” Allowing him to accompany her would give her time in his presence alone, away from the sorceress and her power, to build trust between her and Roi. The sorceress calling herself a priestess needed Roi as her pawn, but if Aoife made him hers, she could outwit the witch and destroy her and her monsters.
“I do so want to make ye happy, Aoife.” He smiled broadly. Roi was incredibly handsome when he smiled, but his smile was only pleasing to the eye. He reached a tentative hand and gently stroked her hair.
Aoife leaned into his touch. He ran his fingers down to the ends of her curls, brushing her nipple through the thin material of her sheath with the back of his knuckles. She drew in a sharp breath.
Roi’s eyes dilated at her body responded to his caress. He leaned in and brushed her lips with his, stroking his thumb over her nipple as he deepened the kiss. He’d been a skilled and attentive lover. Her body remembered the feel of his touch and the way he moved inside her. She had once confused the intense pleasure he could give her body with love.
He turned her around gruffly. Then laid a tender kiss behind her ear. One hand on her breast, he licked her neck and nibbled her ear as the other hand found its way under her sheath. He found her sex, strumming her like a harp until she sang out for him.
“Do ye want me inside ye?”
“Aye,” Aoife whispered.
“The first time will be rough and fast. I want ye too much to be gentle.”
Aoife positioned her feet wider apart and leaned forward. Looking over her shoulder, she grinned and said, “Take me as ye like…my king. I’m ready fer ye.”
She allowed herself to enjoy the rough pounding that seemed to be as much punishing her for running f
rom him as it was for slaking his lust.
“Say ye’ll never run from me again,” he commanded, smacking her backside as he thrusted hard and fast.
“I’ll never run from ye,” Aoife cried, nearing her own pleasure, and again adding, “my king.”
He reached around, strumming in just the right place, aiding her climax again. Cu Roi mac Daire roared as he spent himself inside her. He pulled out slowly, looking a little dazed as he pulled up his hose and adjusted his tunic. “Did I hurt ye?”
She shook her head. “I liked it.”
“Good.” His grin was pure, male pride. Then he frowned. “I don’t think I should take ye so again. I want my son conceived in love.”
She forced a smile. Surely he knew it was rare for a kelpie to give birth, their cycle only coming once a season, and even rarer for one to have a child with a human.
His grin returned and he cupped her face, his touch gentler than before. Something was different in his eyes now. “Lie down for a while,” he said gently. “I want my seed to take hold, marking our reunion.”
Aoife balked. Would he anger if she told him it was not her time? She decided against it and did as he bid. She pulled her sheath off on the way to the bed, seizing the opportunity for him to see the mark that was surely on her backside where he’d smacked her. Aoife lay on the bed.
“There’s room for two here, husband.” She patted the space beside her.
Something akin to hope lit Roi’s eyes. “Would ye have me again, wife? Are ye not too tired?”
“I’m a high fae, my husband, not human.” She smiled. “Come to me, Roi.”
The use of his name was all the sorcerer king needed to pull off his tunic and remove his boots and hose. He clambered onto the bed, ready again.
“Aye.” He spread her legs wider to accommodate for him. He eased into her gently, lowering his face to hers.
Aoife could hardly stand this tender side of him; it felt false. She’d rather the rough way he treated her before for what she planned for him. This was all a ruse to earn his trust. Wasn’t it?
He kissed the tip of her nose and smiled, seating himself fully inside her. “I knew ye’d make a good wife.”
Chapter 11
Fagan
Tamlin’s chamber within Mab’s castle was finer than any room Fagan had ever had the pleasure of entering. He stood next to the once-man’s bed, bracing his arm on the ornately carved post while fae scurried about, measuring and dressing him in hose, a linen tunic with fine embroidering, fancy leather belt, a dining baldric complete with embellished sheath and jewel encrusted sword hilt. He would only wear these clothes for this one meal with the great Cuchulainn and Queen Mab.
When he and Tamlin were ready, the latter dismissed the servants. He poured them each a goblet of faerie wine.
“So, yer saying this Cuchulainn and Cu Roi mac Daire are mortal enemies?”
“Aye. They were once friends, but after they raided the fae King Mend’s castle and divvied the spoils, they argued over which would take the king’s daughter.”
His spirits sank. Cuchulainn was an incomparable specimen of masculine beauty, at least in Fagan’s eyes, and not only that, Tamlin had said he was warlord with his heart set to be king. An undefeatable warrior that had trained with legendary heroes, bested Mab’s armies at seventeen, and even the Morrigan herself could not best Cuchulainn. Fagan had heard of this war chieftain who had charmed every famous beauty of Eire and Alba. Fagan himself would let the man have his way with him if he asked. “Now he wants Aoife?”
Tamlin shook his head slowly. “Not like that. Only because he believes mac Daire killed Bláthnat in a fit of jealousy. He’s a married man. Lady Emer will turn a blind eye to all his affairs but won’t stomach another woman in her household. She’d kill Cuchulainn and Bláthnat both.”
“What does he plan on doing with Aoife?”
“Revenge.”
Fagan gripped his goblet. “I won’t allow him to do her harm.”
Tamlin smirked. “I doubt Aoife would either.”
“Fair enough. But if this Cuchulainn was an enemy of the queen’s, why would she want to lend us to him?”
“Mac Daire was to take Bláthnat as wife, which means loving and cherishing her, giving a fae halfling a kingdom in the mortal realm, tying their people and ours, not kill her in a fit of jealousy. Her death weighs heavily on the queen for reasons I cannae say.” He downed his wine and set aside his goblet. He grinned. “What did ye think of the faerie fruit?”
Fagan’s eyes narrowed. “Ye gave Deirdre the fruit this morning?”
Tamlin reared his head. “With explicit instructions to tell ye to take one bite. I saw the half-eaten piece in yer satchel. Playing with fire, my friend.”
His mouth opened and then closed. He’d have to speak to Deirdre later.
The feasting hall was a grand affair, nothing like the barebones barracks where Fagan had lived for… He didn’t know how long. It wasn’t that he couldn’t tell day from night, but his mind simply could not recall how many of them he’d spent there. It had been that way when he was with Aoife. A few days, a month? Perhaps she took a year or several. It was as if the very laws of nature that governed the mortal realm either didn’t exist here, or they were so flagrantly ignored by the occupants the lack of belief made it so.
Highborn fae at tables ate from overloaded platters of meats and cheeses, fruits, and pastries, drank from goblets that seemed as delicate as a thin layer of ice. Fae with gossamer wings flittered about, playing harps or flutes. Some fae danced between the tables, some on tables, and others danced in the air. Glowing orbs lit the room in glittering light.
Fagan thanked whatever gods who would listen that he no longer felt the effects of the faerie fruit. His mind could barely process what he saw. He stuck close to Tamlin, as if they were approaching battle, not seeking the long table where Mab, Cuchulainn, and other important fae yet unknown to Fagan sat.
His face flushed as he passed a naked fae straddling another. He nudged Tamlin. “Christ on a cross—d’ye see what they’re doing, right in front of everyone?” He gestured to the couple, slurring his words slightly. He hadn’t taken any strong drink in what seemed like years and the wine had gone straight to his head. At least he couldn’t see the air. Still Fagan didn’t like he was into his cups with only one glass.
“Get used to it. Everyone will be doing the same before the evening is through,” Tamlin replied, nonplussed.
They approached the queen’s table. Cuchulainn sat at Mab’s side in a chair to her right. He lifted her hand, kissing the knuckles.
Mab laughed and then turned her gaze to Tamlin. She briefly looked over Tamlin before looking at Fagan. She drank him in slowly and he found himself uneasy with the way she stared at him.
Cuchulainn pushed to his feet and raised his glass. “To Fergus!”
Some fae rose with him. Others stared at the large warrior, bafflement on their faces, a custom they were unused to…or none of them knew who ‘Fergus’ was. Goblets of the fine crystal appeared in Tamlin and Fagan’s hands. Tamlin raised his goblet and dipped his head toward Fagan. “To Fergus, my newest ally.”
The fae took the cue, including the queen. All eyes turned to her as she raised her glass. “To my newest knight, Fergus. May he always be as strong and as quick as he was today.”
Cuchulainn and the queen drank first, eyes on Fagan.
He bowed his head in deference and recognition of the gift Mab bestowed upon him. He then drank down the wine in a few gulps. The fairy queen’s recognition wasn’t only a spattering of words and symbolic toast. His skin tingled and he shivered as her blessing settled into his flesh, sinking into his bones and even deeper into his marrow.
Soon, Fagan was sat next to Cuchulainn with Tamlin on the giant man’s other side, the queen atop the knight’s lap. Mab fawned over the knight like a lusty tavern wench, not the ruler of an entire faerie realm. Tamlin fed her from his own hand, nuzzling her neck and whispering aga
inst her skin.
Fagan tried not to stare at the display, instead listening to Cuchulainn lament about his Bláthnat, but the war chieftain was so drunk he hardly made sense.
No human lady, let alone a queen, would sit on their consort’s lap and openly show affection. But what did Fagan know? He’d been a poor cottar. Cuchulainn and Tamlin seemed at home with the behavior of the fae. Perhaps this was what nobility behaved like all the time.
He found his mind wandering to Aoife and their time together. She’d given her affection so freely he’d thought she loved him as he loved her, but had any of it meant a thing to her? Was gaining his devotion some sort of long tactic?
“Yer a quiet and broody one,” Cuchulainn pronounced.
“Only in certain company,” Fagan replied, nodding his head toward the feast turning quickly into an orgy.
Cuchulainn laughed heartily and from the belly. “Nonsense. Ye would be joining in if they hadn’t sat ye with poor, heartbroken me.” He poked a finger into Fagan’s bicep. “Yer stewing because mac Daire has yer woman.”
“She’s a kelpie, not a woman.”
The giant warrior pushed his face into Fagan’s, smiling broadly. “Ye didn’t deny she’s yers.”
“She belongs to herself. I don’t like mac Daire took her freedom. A castle in Ulaid is no place for a kelpie. Aoife is a part of nature, not meant for walls. She needs open space and water or she’ll sicken and die.”
“If that were so, why didn’t she stay with ye in the woods or one of the isles, training and tupping? Don’t look so shocked. Tamlin spied on the two of ye for a long spell, determining whether ye were a threat or no to his queen. Princess Aoife ran straight from her father’s castle on Emain Ablach to this one, preparing her gift along the way.” He guzzled down more wine.
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