Fairytale Christmas

by Merrie Destefano

  And since then, he had shown me the sweet love of a Duine man for a Duine woman.

  He pulled me into his arms then, and lifted my chin until I was gazing into his eyes. He kissed me, long and deep, making me forget everything I had planned to say about leaving.

  “Stay here,” he said a heartbeat later. “Marry me.”

  It was my turn to become weak and not know what to say. I’d wanted to hear these very words for so long that I had nearly given up.

  “I—I—” All I could do was stammer, my own eyes filling with tears.

  “Say yes. Please.” Then he kissed me again and if I’d had any doubts about whether he meant what he said, I certainly had none now.

  “Yes, Cara Maith,” I answered when we finally parted long enough for me to speak. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, than at your side.”

  He gave me a grin that made me burn inside. “We’ll marry on Christmas Day, then, when my kin and the other Guardians visit.”

  I nodded. It sounded perfect. Even though I had no idea what or when Christmas was. I only hoped this day would come soon.

  The following days were spent gathering greenery from the forest. Ambros and Benen frolicked about as wolf cubs, of course, occasionally romping past me with a pine branch between their jaws. Isleen wore the new red cloak I’d made for her, with white rabbit fur at the collar and cuffs, while she filled her basket with mistletoe. Kellen and I foraged for ivy vines and sprigs of bright red and green holly. His blue eyes glistened as if he was keeping a wonderful secret, his cheeks reddened by the cold.

  He was a gloriously handsome Duine and I looked forward to the day of our marriage.

  Soon we were all crowded back inside the warm cottage, a hearty stew cooking over the fire, while we made garlands together. Once they were finished, Isleen showed us how to drape them across the mantel and arch them over the windows.

  I began to wonder if my new family was preparing to celebrate one of the ancient Celtic holy days. Solstice perhaps, or a feast to honor Saturn. Although the typical type of behavior that took place during such a festival didn’t seem like Kellen’s way. He was such a gentle, soulful man.

  But hadn’t the Druids behaved like that? Looking into their eyes had been like staring into a deep pool, hypnotic and dangerous. Throughout the centuries, I’d often stumbled upon Druid altars in the forests, human bones strewn amongst the charred wood. Their kindness often led people into a trap.

  Their rituals of human sacrifice conjured dark magic—like the silver weapons that gave victory to the Duine Milesian invaders. Because of them, my immortal people had lost.

  The ribs in my chest tightened, as if encircled by a band of metal.

  Kellen couldn’t be a Druid, could he? I should have waited until we were alone to ask him, but I had to know now. I couldn’t spend another night here, not if he was a conjurer of dark magic.

  “Are you a Druid?” I asked him then, my words abrupt and cutting off Isleen, who had been explaining a game to my boys.

  The cottage grew quiet. Isleen cocked her head, as if she hadn’t understood my question. Kellen frowned for an instant, then he must have decided to turn it all into a joke.

  He laughed. “Women usually ask me that when we first meet. During dinner in fact. Kind sir, what kind of flesh is this we’re eating?”

  “Then—you are. And you’re preparing to celebrate Solstice or Saturn or some raucous feast with drinking and—and—and—human sacrifice.”

  “Human sacrifice?” Benen asked, walking closer to me, his brow furrowed.

  “We usually only kill one or two villagers—” Kellen said.

  “Da, stop teasing!” Isleen chided her father.

  A low growl settled in Benen’s throat, despite the fact that he was properly dressed in Tuatha de Danann flesh and wore a brown homespun tunic. Ambros sat in the corner, but a growl sounded in his throat as well.

  “We’re honorable folk,” Isleen declared, as she put a hand on Benen’s chest, holding him in place. “We’re Christians, both of us, and about to celebrate our high holy day. Da’s only teasing and trying to make light of it, because—”

  Her voice faltered and she glanced away. She was so like her father. Benen’s attitude changed abruptly and he placed one of his hands on hers.

  “What is it, Isleen?” he asked.

  Ambrose was still a little boy, through and through, except for those times when he was a wolf. But Benen was quickly growing a man’s heart.

  “Because Ma died on Christmas Eve, five years ago,” she said.

  I glanced at Kellen, not sure what to do, and his lips tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said as put his arms around his daughter. “We have borrowed some of the old ceremonies and included them in our Christmas celebrations, but there are no Druids here or anywhere nearby.” He looked down at his daughter. “Joking helps me deal with our loss. But I never meant to hurt you, my little mountain princess. Is Christmas Day a good time for Eire and me to wed? Or should we wait until spring?”

  Isleen shook her head, her long dark braids tossing over her shoulders. “I wish it was today, Da. Spring would be too long to wait.” Then she gave me a timid smile. “But there will be no human sacrifice, Eire. I promise. And we’ll never kill another wolf, either. On Christmas, there will only be gift-giving and feasting and the telling of tales.”

  “Thank the stars and moon for that!” Ambrose said, as if that was the most important thing he had heard all day.

  Benen laughed and pushed his brother. They fell on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs and before we could stop them, they became wolves again, barking and chasing each other around the cottage. We were all laughing by the time we caught them, just before they knocked over the pot of stew and ruined our dinner, but not before they chewed up the last of our pine branches.

  Kellen and I chased all three children outside.

  Once we were alone and done cleaning up the mess, he sighed and I feared his heart had turned serious after the mention of his dead wife.

  “I’ll never be one of the Fair Folk,” he told me. “My beliefs and my ways are different from yours, Eire. But I’ll always love you. From now until my last day, and even after that.”

  I slipped my arms around his waist and pulled him close. I pressed my head to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, knowing that his would stop beating long before mine.

  “I don’t want one of the Fair Folk for my husband,” I told him. “I chose you, even before you chose me. I’d love you even if you cast me out today—”

  “I’ll never do that.”

  “Listen, you need to know the way of the Fair Folk. I choose you as my husband and, like the Duine women, I choose to follow your God too—as long as we don’t take part in human sacrifice, and I liked what Isleen said about not killing wolves either—so I pledge myself to you, Kellen of Sléibhte Chill Mhantáin, here and now. When you call, I will come.”

  He grew so quiet I wasn’t sure if he had heard me. I pulled away to look up into his eyes.

  “Are we married now?” he asked, confused.

  I laughed. “No, you have to say the same thing back to me. And mean it, of course. And we still have the proper Duine ceremony on Christmas Day, with all your kin and the other Guardians—”

  ‘When you call, I will come,” he said. “I will always be here for you.”

  He kissed me then, before I could explain the other differences between a Fair Folk wedding and that of a Duine. But it didn’t matter. He’d learn about them soon enough. Even without me telling him.

  Eighteen

  While the rest of my country celebrated this new holiday of Christmas, Kellen and I were wed. Our small cottage was dressed in winter greenery and I sprinkled it all with a touch of magic. If you walked through the front door, everything in the room began to sparkle and glow. Everyone marveled over it, though truly it was the simplest of spells. Kellen’s family traveled from all over the mountain and beyond, and when they arrived
we refreshed them with a whiskey toddy brewed with herbs, lemon, and a touch of magic. I met his cousins and uncles, his beautiful grandmother and his sister. So many children ran underfoot that it was dangerous to walk through the house, so we set logs outside and built a bonfire to warm everyone.

  Gifts were given and received. Isleen got several new dresses, Benen got a set of bow and arrows, Ambros got a sword made from this new metal, which I discovered was iron. My boys promised not to change into wolves while our guests were here, but they did anyway. Soon my new family and all the Guardians were laughing as my wolf children chased one another through the forest.

  At first, everyone was frightened when our party was joined by a pack of real wolves. But once they heard the story of how these wolves had saved Isleen—told by none other than the pack leader himself, spoken in a fine, high Gaelic tongue—they accepted these beautiful creatures as friends.

  Duine babes played with wolf cubs and no one was hurt, not by tooth or claw. One wolf grabbed a child by the collar and pulled him back when he got too close to the fire. Another wolf stole a plate of Isleen’s cookies, but once we realized they had a longing for sweet treats, we baked a cake just for them.

  During our feast, one distinguished Duine elder came forward, a crest of roses on his tunic. He bowed to me and then took a knee.

  “I am your eldest living Guardian, my queen,” he said. “It has been an honor to serve you.”

  “Then you are my most trusted knight,” I told him. I took my sword, a weapon that had been forged by Faelan to kill me, and I laid it across my Guardian’s right shoulder. “You shall always be called the First Knight of the Roses.”

  Then, when a slender moon rose and our guests had eaten and drunk their fill, Kellen took me by the hand and led me through the forest. Our guests followed us in a single file, each of them carrying a glowing candle. The women sang a wedding song, their voices a lovely harmony that made me wish Caer was here, and that she was singing along with them.

  Be safe, be well, dear sister, I said in my heart.

  I never expected an answer. Perhaps it was born of this magic night. Or perhaps it was a Christmas gift from Kellen’s God. However it happened, I heard my sister’s voice, as clear as if she stood beside me.

  The enchantment is over and my spell has protected you, dear one. And now, you have the love I promised you. This is the man I told you about, so many centuries ago. I saw him in a vision that day in the cave and I made sure your sleep would last until the two of you met—

  My heart swelled and I closed my eyes, remembering how she had stood between me and an eternal darkness, with only her love to protect me. I hoped she was safe and that I would see her again one day.

  I also hoped that one day, she could be set free from Faelan, the evil one.

  That was my vow to her. If it took all of eternity, one day, I would make sure that she could choose freedom.

  We wended through the trees, following a curving path until we reached a place I had never been. It surprised me that there was a hidden hollow on the mountain I had known for so many thousands of years. As we approached, the ground grew warmer and the snow melted. Wildflowers, green grass, and trees with fresh, spring leaves greeted us. This was a magic as strong as any I’d ever seen.

  Kellen smiled, that sparkle in his eyes telling me he was glad I hadn’t known about this place.

  A spring of warm water fed this secret grotto, while tall rock walls sheltered it from the snows.

  My two sons wore Tuatha de Danann skin and blue embroidered tunics that matched my own blue gown with a rabbit fur collar. Isleen wore a long dress of the same material as mine. Kellen wore the brilliant green of his Clan, and for the first time, I noticed a flash of green in his blue eyes. When we finally stopped, we were surrounded by white wildflowers and their fragrance was intoxicating.

  There, in that hidden grotto, we pledged ourselves to one another.

  As was the practice with Duine brides, I vowed to love Kellen and his God. I meant it with all my heart.

  Kellen vowed to love me as a woman, instead of a god.

  My heart skipped a beat when he said those words.

  His eyes sparkled as his daughter Isleen approached, carrying something wrapped in fine linen. He carefully unwrapped it and lifted it from Isleen’s hands, a sweet fragrance rising. ‘Twas a crown made of tiny pink roses. He placed it upon my head.

  “This is for you, Eire. Queen of my heart.”

  I couldn’t speak, for my joy was overwhelming. Instead, I showered us with tiny golden stars. Everyone laughed and tried to catch them. I didn’t tell them, but for each star they caught, I granted them one wish.

  When we had finished the Duine ceremony, Isleen led our family and trusted friends back to the cottage to wait for us. Meanwhile, Kellen and I went to an oak grove and pledged ourselves in the faery way.

  There was no trickery and I made sure he understood what we were doing beforehand. This would not be like my wedding to my dead husband, Fethur, or my sister’s wedding to Faelan. No bride was kidnapped. No House would be made stronger by our union.

  “When you call, I will come,” I said to him.

  “When you call, I will come to you,” he said to me, but he pledged even more. “You will not be lost to me, Eire. No matter how far you wander, not even the ocean of eternity shall separate us.”

  My eyes filled with tears, for I had tried to keep trickery at bay. But being a faery, there are always secrets I cannot tell.

  My husband did not know that he would live almost as long I would. Our union would revive him, every single day. Just as he brought me love, I would bring him life.

  But that would be my secret. He would figure it out himself, in time. I only hoped he would forgive me.

  Then after our final vows were completed, we had one last thing to do before we could join the others back at our cottage. We walked together through the wood, hiding all the trails and paths that led to his home. With a spell here and there, this place would remain hidden. My children and I would be safe from Faelan and his Leanan Sidhe.

  Then we paused for one more embrace, his arms wrapped around me, the heavens full of stars above us.

  “You made me believe in love again,” I told him with a sigh.

  He kissed me then and I vowed in my heart that I would never stop believing in something as wonderful as this again.

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  Fairytale Christmas

  Also, there will be another adventure in this series coming early in 2018—Wolf Haven: Book 2 in the Fair Folk Saga.

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  CHAPTER ONE: FATHOM

  Kira:

  I never believed in ghosts.

  Until I saw one, face to face, when I was twelve.

  It was the middle of the summer, one of those nights when the wind scratched tree branches against my window and the Pacific roared so loud I thought it was going to sweep me away. Something startled me awake, some shifting of our house, beam against beam, old wood crying out in the damp sea breeze.

  Almost instantly a chill shiver ran down my arms.

  I got out of bed, the wooden floor cool and welcome against my bare feet. I paused in the hallway, noticed the fragrance of freshly cut hawthorn in the air. I used to love that smell.

  Not anymore.

  Then I saw something in a pool of moonlight—spots of water on the floor.

  Like tiny lakes. Each one perfectly formed and separate.

  Watery footp
rints.

  Leading toward my father’s door.

  I couldn’t breathe or move. Part of me wanted to disappear. Another part of me hoped that maybe the past could be erased and rewritten.

  That was when I saw her. My mother.

  I have her photo on my nightstand—me, my sister and her—all in a huddle of green leaves. Her dark hair twined with Katie’s and my own like the three of us were one person. We were up in our tree house. My father must have taken that picture. And here she was right in front of me, tall and slender and silver in the pale moonlight, her long dark hair swirling in the muggy summer breeze, looking like a mermaid, her skin glistening as if she had just risen from her briny home.

  Dark lips parted and a small gasp came out when she saw me.

  It only lasted a moment, but in that amount of time I saw too much.

  Her fingers stained with fresh blood, her eyes the color of the ocean, her skin so pale it looked as if she hadn’t been in the sun for years.

  “Mom,” a whisper cry came from my lips.

  She came nearer then, this wraith from the past, until she could press a slender finger against my lips. She shook her head. We both knew the rules. I grew up on the Celtic legends; they were all my family talked about during the long winter nights, when the fire crackled and spit and our bellies were full.

  But for now, silence filled the hallway, just long enough for me to hear the air coming in and out of my mother’s mouth, as if she had run a great distance to get here. Perhaps the gates to the Underworld were farther away than I thought. Or perhaps she had climbed the great cliff our house sat upon, all the way up from the ocean floor, to get here. Finally—when neither of us could bear the quiet any longer and I’m sure both of us would have started weeping, when words would have gushed like streams from our mouths and we would have broken every rule that protected the living from the dead—at that point, she brushed past me down the narrow hallway, toward the back door.