Vow Unbroken: Faerie Tales 3

by T. J. Deschamps

  Fagan shook his head. “Nay. Aoife had no choice. Mac Daire sent hellish creatures after her. She needed the queen’s protection.”

  Cuchulainn sobered. “Tell me more about these creatures.”

  “We were chased by a swirling mist that transformed into hounds, but not like any hounds I’ve ever seen. Their teeth were like daggers and their eyes glowed with a strange power. But the worst thing about them was the shadows that lurked about them. I felt like those shadows could…” Fagan shuddered and shook his head. “I sound mad.”

  “No. Not at all. Bláthnat told me tales of much worse in mac Daire’s kingdom,” Cuchulainn admitted. “She called it a place of nightmares.” He leaned in and whispered with his hand shielding his mouth. “Imagine that coming from a fae.” He nodded to the scene unfolding beyond the table.

  A shiver crept up Fagan’s spine.

  “Cu Roi is unkillable too. Bláthnat said she poisoned him, stabbed him in his sleep, and cursed him to no avail. I’ve seen him in battle, taking wounds that would kill even a fae and he kept going.”

  “Do ye plan to kill Aoife?”

  Cuchulainn shook his head. “It is said mac Daire is enamored with his new queen more than he ever was with Bláthnat, and killing Aoife would pain him as much as he’s pained me, but yer kelpie has done me no wrong, and I want no quarrel with the sea itself.”

  Fagan grimaced. Aoife’s life depended not on her character, but her father’s ability to exact vengeance. He didn’t know if he cared for this Cuchulainn.

  “The last time I saw my dearest Bláthnat alive, she sent me on a quest. Deep in her father’s realm there exists a sword, older than humans have existed and said to have been wielded by the Morrigan herself to fight an ancient enemy called the Fomorians in the Primordial War. Bláthnat believed this sword is the secret to killing mac Daire for it is said to slay evil itself.”

  Fagan reared his head. “Fomorians. My mam knew of all the faerie stories and never told me that one.”

  “Not many have heard of it. Apparently, it was between the original fae gods and gods of a shadow realm.” Cuchulainn stared at his goblet, yet again filled with wine. “I failed. When I returned to tell Bláthnat I needed to seek aid, I came across a creature of such darkness, such power, even more than the Morrigan herself, I knew better than to fight it. The monster would have killed me if it hadn’t transformed to my love. She said her body was dead, but her soul was…” He heaved a deep breath, tears streaming down the large man’s cheeks. His whole great body shuddered. “Her soul was trapped inside the monster. She bade me to run, to find the sword so that she could rest. That is why I’m here. I came to Mab for aid and she has agreed to lend me her two strongest knights.”

  “She had bequeathed me the use of Tamlin and Robin Redcap, but ye took the place of the latter for obvious reasons.”

  The whole demonstration had been a farce Fagan didn’t fully understand. He could only nod. Guilt weighed on him like a heavy mantle. He wasn’t as strong or as skilled in battle as the redcap he’d slain. Robin, who had been dedicated to Mab’s service his entire life, had died for reasons Fagan couldn’t fathom.

  His reached past the great Cuchulainn to Tamlin. The copper-haired knight’s green eyes were hooded with lust, unconcerned about what had happened today nor the lie he’d tangled Fagan in.

  The knight was right about one thing. Tamlin and Fagan were not the same at all.

  Chapter 12

  Tamlin

  Tamlin slipped from under Mab’s arm. Cuchulainn was fast asleep as well on her other side. Tamlin drank in a good eyeful of the warrior’s masculine beauty.

  Cuchulainn hadn’t minded the sharing of Mab but had set a hard rule: “Our swords may cross, but there’ll be no tender caresses or kisses betwixt us.”

  Tamlin had shared enough women to know men who didn’t fancy men didn’t like much eye contact during the act. The way Cuchulainn had gazed in Tamlin’s eyes when they were both inside her, though. Swords crossing indeed.

  Used to dressing in utter silence but preferring not having to do it, he was thankful for Cuchulainn’s sonorous snore. He exited through a secret panel that opened to a black stairwell, waiting in absolute darkness for the few moments the panel took to slide shut. He pulled a will o’ wisp from his satchel. The insect-sized fae stretched her tiny arms, then fluttered from his palm into the air, lighting his path downward.

  He exited into the bathhouse. Deirdre awaited him there as he’d instructed her. She floated in one of the pools, asleep. There were places in this faerie outside the castle walls where nixies would drown a sleeping fae. Unlike kelpies, who were supposed to drown horse thieves and other criminals, nixies would kill over territory. They hated anyone fouling their waters.

  “Ye played a nasty trick on our Fergus, Deirdre. Shame on ye for not telling him to take only a bite.”

  “Nay, I did not trick him.” She swam to the edge of the pool and pulled herself out. Grabbing a linen, she wrapped the sheet around herself. “I told him to partake none of it.”

  Tamlin cocked his head. “Why?”

  She leaned her long muscular body against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. “I wanted him to stay. He’ll get killed on a quest meant for seasoned warriors.”

  Interesting. He’d thought he’d seen an attachment growing on Deirdre’s part. “Would ye care to join us and watch his back?”

  Her eyes lit up, but she didn’t express her excitement in her tone. “I suppose.”

  “Ye must trail us or scout ahead. I don’t want Cuchulainn aware of yer presence. Are ye up for the task?”

  “Of course I am.” Deirdre sniffed before a smile crept up the corner of her mouth. “Ye don’t trust Cuchulainn?”

  He shook his head slowly. “He’s known to go into ríastrad—a fighting frenzy where he doesn’t know friend or foe. If he does, I shall need ye to create a distraction and then run to the nearest faerie circle or arch. That’s what we’ll be doing.”

  Deirdre cursed under her breath. “If that’s the case, ye should bring a retinue.”

  “Nay, too many people and he’ll catch on. Bring one or two of Mab’s stealthiest trackers. There’s no fighting him when he’s in that state. The man is a demigod.”

  Deirdre whistled. “Mab must owe him.”

  Tamlin made no remark. Deirdre was a warrior, not a highborn fae. “Good night.”

  After taking a long soak, he went back up the stairwell. He entered his chamber through a secret door. Fergus lay sprawled out on his bed, naked, fast asleep. The moonlight limned his black hair blue and his fair skin silver, giving the illusion of an otherworldly god. Tamlin hated the illusion. It was Fergus’s humanity, his strength of feeling and his vulnerability, that Tamlin cared for. The poor lad didn’t know four years had passed in the human realm since he’d last seen his Aoife. She’d been Roi’s queen longer than her brief tryst with Fergus.

  He didn’t have the heart to tell the lad.

  Tamlin stepped forward stroking the line of his jaw. After years of serving Mab, Tamlin thought his heart had grown hard, as the queen had turned it to stone when she made him immortal. He’d spent the better part of the time since Fergus arrived watching him from afar, falling in love with the earnest man, and hoping he’d stop pining for Aoife. How many times had he daydreamed of running away with Fergus, living a simple life in a cottage in the isolated Highlands? Sometimes children wandered into the dream. Aoife, too.

  Tamlin let his hand drift over the apple of his throat, the broad, muscled shoulder, the curve of his bicep, and the length of his forearm. He let his hand drop

  Blue eyes almost black in the darkness fluttered open, gazing up at him with trust and longing. Fergus’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Shit. I dinnae want to sleep in the cot. So, I found my way back here. When ye went off with the queen, I dinnae think ye’d return.” He sat up and scratched his head. “I’ll just…”

  Tamlin unfastened his belt. “Shhh...go back to sle
ep. We have to rise early.”

  Fergus licked his lips, watching his hands. “D’ye want me to—”

  “Nah, sleep as ye are.” Tamlin lifted his tunic over his head and pulled down his hose. “If ye dinnae mind me sleeping the same way. I cannae stand to sleep in clothes.”

  “I dinnae mind.” Fergus shook his head, black tendrils of his silken hair falling over one eye. The man was a god made flesh yet had no idea how utterly beautiful he was. Even with the legendary Cuchulainn in the room, Fergus had the bonniest face and form Tamlin had ever seen. Perhaps it was the sincerity of the man shining through.

  Tamlin’s heart pounded in his chest and his mouth went dry. “Mind if we lie under the covers? It’s a bit chilly. Unless ye prefer to stay on top? I could…” He smiled, feeling suddenly nervous.

  Fergus wordlessly maneuvered, turned down the bed, leaving it open and himself exposed.

  Tamlin joined him, settling inches away, yet he could not breach the small distance. He thought too often of Fergus. Hoped too much. Instead, he pulled up the covers to his chin. “Best we get to sleep.”

  “Right. Can I ask ye a question first?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why did ye arrange it so I’d come on this quest? I am no the best option for survival let alone accomplishing it.”

  Tamlin chewed on his lip, thinking of how to explain something he hardly understood himself. “I believe the fates of ye, Aoife, and I are intertwined. Out of all the cottars in all of Alba, she happened to step in the one who would not let a kelpie suffer.”

  “I saved Aoife’s life, ‘tis true, but she gave me a reason to live. She sparked a flame of hope warming a heart long gone cold.”

  “Ye must tell her so when ye reunite.”

  “Aye,” Fergus replied in a dreamy voice, already drifting off to sleep.

  Tamlin grew weary too, but his mind still worked. All this time and Fergus still loved her as much as he did the day he’d come to the faerie. His chest burned, not with jealousy, but yearning. He wanted to be part of their story and would find a way for their daydream to come true, free of Mab and this wretched castle. Tamlin drifted off, picturing a cottage in the Highlands.

  Chapter 13

  Aoife

  The waves crashed against the rocky shore. Aoife stood atop a flattened rock, allowing the water to lap her feet and soak her pretty slippers and the hem of her silver and blue gown. She greeted the sea in her full royal regalia, replete with silver crown. Why not? She was the Queen of Ulaid, her king and a retinue of wary soldiers waiting behind her as proof.

  The waves changed shape to a stampede of wild horses. All seventy sisters appearing for the spectacle. Only one reached the shore, solidifying into a black mare on a nearby rock.

  The knights gasped as the kelpie transformed into a lovely maiden with black hair and dark brown skin. Her eyes glowed red. Niamh was always one for dramatics.

  Aoife smiled at her sister. “How fares our father?”

  “Well. He is pleased ye settled into this life, making him a strong alliance in this world.” Niamh nodded to Cu Roi mac Daire.

  He’d sidled closer to Aoife, hand ready to wield his iron sword as if to protect her from her own sister.

  “He would like for ye to visit though. It’s been years.”

  In Aoife’s mind, her sister appeared. Come with us. We will make father pay for this imprisonment. Together, we are stronger than father.

  Years ago, Aoife would have said yes, but there were matters Niamh didn’t know. Namely, that Roi’s sorceress continued to add to her army of Fomorians.

  Nay, there is an enemy the fae should know of, sister. She bombarded Niamh with images of the ritual and the sorceress and all the knowledge she’d gained since coming to this kingdom. Share this with him.

  Come share it, yerself.

  “Yer father may come to my castle any time he wishes, but my wife goes nowhere without me and I’m staying right here where I can best protect what’s mine,” Roi said, placing a possessive hand on the small of her back. His iron gauntlet burning where he touched even through the material.

  He’s no life mate. He’s a jailer! Please, sister. Come with us.

  Aoife’s gaze shifted to the sea, her entire being wishing to leap, to transform to her kelpie form and return to Emain Ablach. Her eyes burned from unshed tears.

  “This is my home. I am happy here with my husband.” The pain of the lie burned hotter than the iron gauntlet at her back. He will follow me to the ends of existence.

  Is he that smitten?

  I carry his child.

  The image of Niamh gasped, but outwardly her sister only nodded.

  The sorceress eyes my belly as if she’ll devour the babe once she is born. Please, tell father to have a moot with the other kings and queens. They must ally against this enemy before it is too late.

  “Very well, I will tell our father all.” Niamh shifted to kelpie form in swirl of shadows and mist, jumping into the waves.

  Aoife’s chest ached to join her sisters as she watched them disappear into the sea.

  “D’ye think she puzzled out our little secret?” Roi whispered in her ear.

  Aoife shrugged. “It’s so rare. I’d have to tell her.”

  “Did ye want to go with them?”

  “I miss my sisters, ‘tis all, my lord.”

  “Aye. I’m sorry ye don’t have much in the way of womanly company. I’d thought there would be more to be said between ye today.”

  Aoife wanted to scream that the reunion was hardly private. “Kelpies don’t need to speak. We can feel what the others feel.”

  Roi studied her features in the way he always did. Her husband, her jailer, still found her enchanting. She didn’t have to guess. She was always in his thoughts, how he loved her too much and should hold back lest she and everyone else think him weak. His open affection was the only thing that made this prison bearable.

  “Let us get ye home where yer warm and comfortable.”

  Aoife wanted to scream the cold sea was her home and her comfort, but she remained silent and let him steer her to the path leading to the castle. She had to have faith her father and the other fae gods would vanquish the Fomorians before too many escaped their dark realm.

  Epilogue

  “Name’s Tommy. This lil’ establishment is the remnants of an old Scottish laird’s castle, an ancestor of mine. My great-grandfather had it imported. Like it?” the young, redheaded bartender said, his Brooklyn upbringing coloring every word. He poured beers for all four of them, sliding next to Aoife.

  It was always her he’d notice first. They’d met first. There was a time Fergus and Tamlin had fought for her and, many times, over her and over each other. The jealousies and passions had always been wild between the three of them.

  The new Tamlin’s gaze shifted past Aoife, landing on Fergus, as if seeing him for the first time, and holding. Fergus stared back, believing his soul would render there in the stupid little hole in the wall. How long had he loved this man? How long had he hated him just as much?

  Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and that coin’s name was Tamlin.

  “It’s…nice,” Niamh managed, smiling.

  “Oh, do I detect a Scottish accent?” Tamlin’s gaze dipped to Niamh’s bosom.

  “Ye don’t even know yer first tongue, ye daft wanker,” Fergus grumbled in Gaelic.

  Aoife kicked him under the table. He ignored her, eyes on the reincarnated Tamlin.

  “That was definitely Scots-Gaelic.” The bartender winked. “Do ye speak English?”

  “It’s rare for us Scots to be able to do otherwise, now, isn’t it?” Fergus answered in English with a modern Scots accent. He’d been around so long and had played so many roles, he could sound British or even American if he wanted to, but he preferred to remember who he was and where he’d come from.

  “Right. Right. Sorry.” He raised his hands as if surrendering. “I should get back—”

 
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Aoife said, batting her eyelashes and placing her hand over Tamlin’s. “He’s jetlagged and grumpy. Fergus here is a Highland Scot. My sister and I are Irish by way of Ulai—Ulster. We three run a tour company there.”

  She was once the queen of Ulster, Fergus thought. Legend had forgotten her—or mixed up her role, but not her cousin Bláthnat.

  He didn’t bat an eye that Aoife was a pale, freckled redhead and Niamh had ebony skin and hair. “No way! I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland and Scotland. I’m Scots-Irish on both sides. I’ve heard there are tours where you can dress up and other cool stuff.”

  Aoife and Tamlin hit it off from there, Niamh adding to the conversation. The sisters used to trap men and bring them to their watery deaths. For justice, they said. Fergus had been around fae long enough to know it was also for sport. He sat back and played the role of silent and broody, doubting their plan would work. Tamlin kept coming back to the table for hours on and off as he’d have to tend to his duties. When the hour grew late and he was thoroughly hooked, Aoife gave him her card for the business front they used to gather humans for the Wild Hunt.

  “I wrote the hotel name of where we’re staying on the back. Come by later and have a nightcap with us.”

  Tamlin’s gaze shifted to Fergus. “You cool with that?”

  No. Fergus wasn’t cool with that. He wasn’t going to do it again; they all three had agreed to break the cycle, but it felt the same as if Mab’s curse were weaving it that way.

  “Do as ye like.”

  “I’d like to know if you want me there,” Tamlin or Tommy or whatever name he went by this time around asked.

  “Sometimes I think our three souls are bound by the old promise we made, not ye and Mab’s,” Fergus responded in Gaelic.