Unholy Blue

by Darby Kaye

  With that, Bann and Shay turned around and raised their joined hands over their heads, showing them to the audience, then back to Orwren.

  She reached over to unwind the ribbon. “We now unbind you two in token that you will remain together of your own free will.” Finished, she handed it to Shay. “To wrap about the swaddling clothes of your first-born child.”

  “Cor?” Shay gestured to the boy, who hesitated. A gentle nudge from Gideon got his feet moving. The boy joined them, his cheeks pink from both the attention and the symbolism. He stood his ground, however, when Shay knotted the ends of the handfasting ribbon together and slipped the loose noose around Cor’s neck. It hung past his waist. After a kiss from Shay, he stepped back to his place.

  Orwren lifted her hands in blessing, taking in not only Shay and Bann, but the entire Doyle clan and their guests. “May the Goddess, from whom we sprang, sanctify this union.” She lowered her arms. “Now embrace the blessed couple.”

  Cheers deafened Bann as the clan surged forward, all eager to be the first to congratulate the bride and groom. James circled around, his camera clicking and flashing. After ten minutes of steady handshaking, back pounding, and not a few kisses bestowed upon Shay by all of the younger Knights—and most of the older Knights—he turned when fingers plucked his elbow.

  “I’d like a chance to greet my son-by-law,” said a voice behind him.

  “Isobel.” Bann took both her hands in his and squeezed them gently.

  “What? No hug?” She smiled. “I wasn’t that daunting earlier, was I?”

  Well, yes. A bit. “Why, no, not at all,” he said, hugging her.

  “Liar.” She laughed, then turned to embrace her daughter. “You couldn’t look more stunning.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Probably be the last time you see me this dressed up.” Shay peered past her mother toward the dining room. “I’m starving. Do you think the buffet is ready? I was so busy getting ready, I never ate lunch.”

  “Take your husband,” Isobel pushed the two of them toward the dining room, “and go get a plate. Shoo, before all the lobster rolls are gone.”

  “Husband.” That has a right fine ring to it, Bann thought.

  Drinks and food and music filled his head for the next several hours, as well as the warmth of Shay’s hand in his or her arm around his waist. At one point, he looked for Cor. Before he could ask, Shay spoke.

  “He and Neill are in the upstairs den watching a movie and keeping Sam company. Since Cor is spending the night here, I told them they could camp out up there.” She chuckled. “I don’t know what he was more excited about—our wedding, or doing a boys-only sleepover.”

  “A grand idea.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Say, would you like to come sleep over with me? Right now? We could slip out the door and no one would be the wiser.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Gideon pulling James and Rory to one side and speaking in a low tone. As the cousins disappeared, the Black Hand nodded once at Bann.

  “I don’t have any shoes on.” Shay stuck out her foot and wiggled it. “How am I supposed to get to the truck without—Oh!” She squeaked in delight when Bann scooped her up. Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. “Giddyup!”

  The Tuatha Dé Danaan closest to them cheered, which brought the others running. As the crowd spilled out the door and filled the porch, clapping and shouting, Bann marched past with Shay in his arms. He walked carefully down the snowy steps and over to his truck, which was waiting for them, the motor running and the doors flung open. Nearby, Rory and James were grinning.

  “Mind your head, darlin’,” Bann said as he set her down in the passenger side. As he sprinted around the vehicle, acutely aware of just how drafty a kilt actually was, especially on a cold winter night, a boyish voice shouted for him. He looked back.

  Cor was standing on the top step of the porch, jumping up and down as he waved with both arms. “’Bye, Dad! ‘Bye, Shay!” The crowd burst into laughter when he added, “Codladh sumh!”

  31

  SQUINTING EVEN THOUGH THE dawn light was still weak, Bann rolled over onto his back. With a yawn, he stretched. Every muscle and tendon, hell, even his bones, felt limp and soft after a night of record-breaking sex—record-breaking in both terms of creative positions and number of times. He looked over at the warmth next to him. Shay lay curled on her side, deeply asleep. Her lips, still swollen from kissing, were slightly parted. I don’t know who wore whom out first. Even his manhood seemed happy to just sleep in. Well, I cannot blame the bugger. He had quite the workout.

  That was because Shay had casually announced last night, as they were halfway home, that they no longer needed to use condoms. Bann had practically taken the last corner into their new neighborhood at ten miles over the speed limit, tires skidding sideways.

  With a faint smile, he brushed the back of his fingers along Shay’s blanketed form, then glanced around the room, reveling in the sense of home. Tipping his head back, he looked up at the massive headboard. He reached out and traced the Claddagh, admiring the workmanship anew—his hands itched to pick up his own tools and try something like that. He pointedly ignored the crown over the two clasped hands. I’ll sail that sea later.

  Catching a glimpse of his maimed finger, he brought it closer, examining it in the dim light. Except for missing the fingernail and the skin still pink with healing, and for being a bit shorter, it didn’t look much different from the rest of his digits. He chuckled silently at Rory’s comment last night about Bann o’ the Nine Fingers, and Shay’s subsequent eye-roll.

  Deciding that surprising his wife with coffee in bed would be a fine way to begin the rest of their lives together, he slid out from under the covers and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, then tiptoed out of the room and eased the door closed behind him.

  He made his way down the stairs and through the house, enjoying anew the look and smell of their new home. Once in the kitchen, he started the coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he stood on one foot, then the other, tugging on his athletic shoes, and wondering if Shay would hold him to his word to begin running with her each morning. Trying to come up with excuses why this morning wasn’t the best morning to begin a fitness regime, he glanced out the kitchen window.

  Movement on the far side of the wall caught his eye. A shadow in the shadows of the trees. “Why, ye filthy Bog-born,” he muttered under his breath. “Dinna get the message last time, eh?”

  “Talking to yourself again?” Shay appeared behind him, already dressed in her workout clothes, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Crowding close, she leaned around him and peered out the window. “Talk about suicidal. Don’t they know I haven’t had my coffee yet?”

  “It appears we’ve an inquisitive Amandán. Most likely an entire pack is nearby, as well.” He selected a bronze knife from a rack next to the door leading to the garage, examined the blade’s edge, then chose another with a grunt of satisfaction. “Well, I best go satisfy its curiosity.” He pecked Shay on the cheek. “Keep the coffee warm for me, darlin’.”

  “Funny man.” She grabbed a knife, then snagged their jackets from the coat hooks next to the weapons rack and tossed one to Bann. Pulling on her own fleece, she led the way out the French door before Bann could stop her. “And I can’t believe you forgot our wedding vows already.” She paused on the deck and zipped up her jacket. “‘I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back, and you for mine.’ Remember?”

  “Aye, I remember, shield maiden o’ mine.”

  “Damn straight I am. And don’t think this takes the place of our morning workout.” She wagged her knife at him. “Four miles before breakfast, big guy.” She grinned in anticipation of the hunt, her nose wrinkling slightly.

  Bann laughed. Side by side, they started across the lawn. Halfway to the gate, he raised his weapon in challenge. “Well, come along, ye manky beast,” he called in Gaelic. “I’ve a wee point to share
with ye.”

  To Wes,

  Mo chara and mo shíorghrá

  Acknowledgements

  This time around, I raise a goblet of gratitude to three very special people. First, Vikki Ciaffone, editor. I am a better writer and person for her friendship, her humor, and her personal courage, which is an example to so many people. Next, Kelly Hager, who balances being my friend as well as my publicist with hilarity and patience and sheer brilliance (and Lisa Frank binders), and who never fails to tell me when I’m being a bit of a Luddite. She died gallantly, did she not? And finally, Sam Hager (Kelly’s furry “son”) who was the inspiration for my own plucky Sam. Yes, Sam, we almost entitled this book “Sam Lord.”

  And thank you to the rest of Clan Editorial: Shira Lipkin and Laura Owenby, for catching my numerous mistakes and plot holes, and Rich “Steely-Eyed Missile Man” Storrs, whose phone calls always make me goofy-happy. Also, a rousing gle mhaith to Errick Nunnally for another breath-taking cover.

  I also want to thank Dr. Lloyd D. Graham for allowing me and the Tuatha Dé Danaan to continue to sing his words. His translation of the ancient “Song of Amerigin” can be found in the article “Echoes of Antiquity in the Early Irish ‘Song of Amergin’” by Lloyd D. Graham, 2010.

  Hugs and more hugs to the Stag Lord Street Team: Starr Griggs (and Henry), Leisha O’Quinn, Michele Swindle, Beverly Archer, Tom Sanchez, Kathy Martin, Beverly Stowe McClure, Tracy Houghton, Kaci Guthrie, Mavel Diaz, Lindsey Keesling, Deb McGuire, and all the other fans. “Are we Stag Lording yet?”

  Gratitude and love to my family, who raised a collective eyebrow when I first declared I was going to try my hand at adult books, but then backed me up as they always do. Love you all so hard.

  And thank you to the many readers who have embraced Bann and Shay and Cor and the rest of the Doyle clan, and shared the books with others. You make each day a high joy, my friends.

  Author’s Note

  The words spoken by Orwren O’Siobhan during the wedding ceremony are traditional words used in many Celtic handfasting ceremonies.

  About the Author

  Darby Karchut (writing as Darby Kaye) is an award-winning and best-selling author, dreamer, and compulsive dawn greeter. She’s been known to run in blizzards and bike in lightning storms. When not dodging death by Colorado, Darby is busy writing fantasy for tweens, teens, and adults.

  Visit her at www.darbykarchut.com