“Don’t you think you should have heeded the time?”
Ashlynn seethed inside, but showed only outward calm as she brought her gaze to meet Aoife’s piercing emerald stare. “I had a lot on my mind, Mother. I apologize.” She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and cupped the stone. Soon, she thought.
Ashlynn’s father rose, huge and stately, to his feet to address the room. “Friends, allies,” he began with a deep roar, raising his chalice. “We gather here on this day to celebrate the coming union between my daughter Ashlynn and the righteous leader of Clan Domhnaill. Brigacos, we welcome you to our family and our kingdom.”
The man who rose to his feet amidst cheers was huge, bigger than her own father. Only Ashlynn’s training to be a lady kept her from gaping at his stature. Since everyone in the room was staring at him, she took the opportunity to take stock. He had a fine beard, she admitted to herself, and a thick head of dark hair that had been braided through with strips of leather to keep it off his face. It was a warrior's face, with a jagged scar worn proudly across his cheek and another disappearing into his hairline. He was dressed as a warrior, too, in the finest furs and the tartan of his clan. When he turned to clasp her father’s arm in greeting, his steely gaze caught hers and flared for a moment in what felt like a challenge, then shifted to her father. Ashlynn shivered.
The two bear-like men exchanged a respectful nod, then Conal Kavanagh sat down, leaving Brigacos standing, a sign of respect. “Aye, thank ye fer yer hospitality, Conal, and Clan Kavanaugh.”
Ashlynn eyed the man as he addressed the hall and had to admit that under the mountains of animal pelts and the folds of tartan tucked neatly at his one shoulder with a large, brass brooch, he wasn’t unattractive. Still, Ashlynn shuddered at the thought of a stranger’s hands upon her, demanding husbandly rights, and lost her appetite.
“I speak for me clan and meself when I say we look forward to the union of our two kingdoms and the day when this ancient rivalry can finally be put to rest,” Brigacos raised his cup into the air as the room erupted into cheers. Then he sank back into the oversize chair beside her father and drank deep of his mead.
Ashlynn rolled her eyes and picked at the flaking meat that sat on her plate. She couldn’t stomach the thought of sharing a meal with these people. She wanted nothing more than to be back in her room, performing the spell that would put a stop to it all and allow her to rule her people unchallenged, as she was meant to. Ashlynn picked up her chalice of wine and drank it down in a single mouthful.
“Sister,” Gwendolynn whispered under her breath. “Must you be so unruly? Is it so hard to enjoy a meal with our new family?”
Ashlynn set the chalice down on the table with a little more force than she’d intended, unable to hold back the stirrings of frustrated anticipation that kept pushing her toward the answers she sought. “Apologies.” she said aloud then leaned into her sister’s side to whisper harshly. “I’m not like you, Gwen. I can’t simply roll over and expose my belly, in the chance that mother and father’s hand might deign to rub it.”
Her sister’s body tensed and her hands curled into fists on her lap. Ashlynn saw red sparks fly between her sister’s fingertips and down the lengths of her long, narrow hands to disappear into the long sleeves of her dress. They tinged the air with the taste of ozone and made her wonder if she’d pushed her sister too far this time. When Gwen exhaled a moment later and relaxed her hands, Ashlynn felt a rush of jealousy that her sibling could control her emotions so much more ladylike than she ever could.
Gwen’s tone was just a little annoyed when she whispered back, “Can’t you at least pretend? A real ruler should be well skilled in deception.” Her jab hit true to Ashlynn’s heart. “Besides,” Gwen continued, acting as if she hadn’t just sent out a perfectly timed barb, “he’s actually quite handsome.”
Fury exploded in Ashlynn’s blood. Unable to stay still any longer, she stood up too quickly, sending her chair flying back with a crash on the stone floor. “Then why don’t you marry him?” she ground the words out through a clenched jaw.
“Ashlynn!” Aoife hissed in disapproval as every eye in the room rested on her, judging her every move.
Desperate to get away, Ashlynn spun to face her parents and guest with a forced smile. “I must express my sincerest apologies once again. Father, Brigacos,” she nodded to each in turn, her skin itching to run, “I am not feeling myself this evening and will retire.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. You do that. We shall speak in the morning when you’re…when you have a clear head.”
And with that, Ashlynn was free. She crossed the great hall with small, equally spaced strides as her mother had taught then fled to her room where the call of the ritual beckoned her.
Inside the privacy of her quarter, Ashlynn shut and locked the door behind her before pulling the stone relic from her pocket. It sat heavy and warm in her palm as she contemplated what to do. Remembering an ancient text her grandmother had gifted her for Solstice when she was very young, she burst into action. She slipped out of her bedroom and into Gwen’s to borrow five of her freshly made white candles, then found the book on the shelf back in her room.
Ashlynn laid everything out on the cold, rocky floor of her quarters and flipped through the book to a page she’d always liked as a child. Her eyes traced the words that still rang true in her mind after all these years and, for a moment she wondered if she’d always known its importance. Nerves and excitement pushed her on, urging her toward something she wanted desperately. She sprinkled consecrated Earth, forming a circle of protection, and placed the candles on the five points. Guided now by something more than herself, Ashlynn placed the stone in its center and recited the ancient words.
Goddess Crone, so dark and wise
Truth is written in your eyes
You are winter’s darkened days
You are Luna’s waning phase
You are she of maturation
You are Hecate’s lunation
You are Magick of the Earth
You are death that brings rebirth.
A pause filled the room as Ashlynn bent to light each candle with a match.
Candle of Magick, be my charm
Sustain thine spell and do no harm
Hear these words of rhyme once chanted
May my wish with haste be granted
So mote it be
With a solid clap of her hands, Ashlynn ended the ritual and a stark breeze blew from the tips of her fingers, dousing the tiny flames of each pillar and casting darkness across the room. Her heartbeat heard against the inside of her chest as she waited, hoping it had worked. Praying for a sign.
Nothing happened.
Disappointment flooded her body as she realized the ritual hadn’t worked. Ashlynn frowned and went through the steps, counted the candles, and struggled to understand what she’d done wrong.
Suddenly, Ashlynn froze in place and tilted her head, feeling the soft edges of magick begin to grow. A moment later, a pale glow lit the heart of the stone, growing stronger by the second, filling the room with light. Mesmerized, Ashlynn leaned forward, drawn by the hum that pulsed from the rock like a heartbeat. The trinity knot carved on its surface burned brighter than the rest, focusing the light like the embers of a fire. Shakily, she reached out toward it, her fingertips hovering just a hair away.
“Goddess Crone,” she began, “I wish for peace to reign down among the clans of my kingdom and those who live under the veil of this magical world.”
As the final words spilled over her lips, Ashlynn’s fingers brushed the surface of the burning stone. The contact sent a volt of lighting through her body and across the room with a fierce boom. She tried to yank her hand free as fear jolted through her, but the stone wouldn’t allow her to break free, refusing to let go as the power of the wish anchored her in place and possessed her body.
Pulled by the overwhelming strength of the magick, Ashlynn relinquished her will to the sto
ne as its radiance grew too bright to fathom and a hole opened up and swallowed her.
Chapter Two
Cian ran a hand through his thick black hair, pushing it away from his eyes in utter exasperation. Stress seeped from every pore as he strode into the forest, trying to put as much distance between himself and Serena as physically possible. He prayed it would help, that he’d discover some way of finding balance with her. The gods knew he’d need it, or else their marriage would tear the clans apart just as much or worse than the current hostilities were.
He’d tried, so many times that he’d lost count of the ways he’d attempted to make a real connection with his bride-to-be. But, no matter what he did, no matter what topic he broached, her every word was biting, scathing, and negative to the core. He had no idea how he was supposed to make this work.
Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.
Peter had told him he always had a choice, but what did his cousin know anyway? His choices came down to which hot girl he would ask out for a weekend date, while the fate of their people depended on Cian’s choice. Marry Serena, the exceptionally spoiled only daughter of the Cineal clan high sorceress and sorcerer, or lead his people into war.
His grunt echoed through the deep green forest foliage. He’d thought it more than once but had never dared to say it aloud; maybe war was the better option.
If they did marry, they’d unite the clans under their joint leadership, making her the high priestess of his clan and high sorceress of her own. The power that would be bestowed on her by the ancient rites that would secure her throne would just make her stronger and nastier. He hated the idea of putting his people through that. The alternative, however, was war, and loss of lives. Cian stopped in the middle of a clearing and closed his eyes, letting the sun beat down on his upturned face as the weight of the world lay heavy on his shoulders.
Cian focused on his breathing, taking in the fragrant, damp smell of the forest floor as he opened himself up to the connection he’d always shared with the earth. To be sure he was alone and safe, Cian cast out a circle with his mind, warding against any hostile magic.
He lifted his arms by his sides, opening his mind and body to the natural flow of energies that ran through the world like currents of static electricity, joining everyone and everything in its path. It ran through him, winding around his muscles and easing the tension he’d been storing up. A soft green glow lifted from the forest floor, swirling around him like a soft spring breeze, teasing the skin at the base of his neck. He closed his eyes and accepted the gift, feeling the earth move beneath him as renewed strength surged up through his legs and into his core.
With a smile and a murmur of thanks to the Mother, Cian opened his eyes and saw a woman.
His heart stopped.
For a long moment, his body froze, unwilling to move in case he frightened her away, like the fairy he’d seen as a child. She glowed, there was no other word for the way her red hair shimmered like copper under the midday sun, bursting into a million breathtaking colors.
His eyes took in every detail of her appearance, from the outdated gown she wore, to the jewelry that looked to be worth a fortune, to the look of dazed amazement in her eyes. Then he saw the color rapidly drain from her cheeks and lunged forward to catch the woman as her legs buckled beneath her.
She fell into Cian’s arms and pitched forward, retching on the forest floor as her body shuddered and heaved. Cian acted instinctively, cradling her, murmuring platitudes while holding back her mane of hair. After a minute, she went limp, then turned in his arms and looked up into his eyes.
He felt her stiffen in his arms, fear suddenly shooting through those endless green eyes, and she tried to pull away from him. Cian let go, warry to frighten her any more than she already obviously was. She scrambled back, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, then pulled herself up on still-shaky legs and barked out a command.
At least he assumed it was a command, since he didn’t understand a single word she spoke, although it sounded close to the Gaelic he’d practiced as a boy. There was a royal air to the woman that even her violent sickness couldn’t erase, and the way she stood now, shoulders back, chin lifted to look down at him ever so slightly, screamed royalty. Power practically shimmered around her, like an aura, circling his magic as if in greeting.
Cian held out his hands, palms up, as he would with a strange animal, and spoke softly, keeping his eyes steady on hers. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t understand your language.” He lifted a hand to his throat and mimed speaking.
She frowned and cocked her head to the side, as if listening intently to his words, but no sign of comprehension followed.
Cian nodded and prayed his instincts were right about this mystery woman who had managed to slip past his wards without a single alarm bell going off. At least that proved she had no malicious intent toward him but, considering the way the woman looked and spoke, she wasn’t exactly a local, lost during a midday stroll through the forest. He brought his hands slowly to his sides and closed his eyes, murmuring an incantation he’d used many times during his world travels.
When he opened his eyes again, the woman was scanning him warily. Her hands were raised in front of her in a defensive stance, making him wonder if her go-to was a physical or magical attack. There was a fierce glint in her gaze that told him she’d attack on both fronts and never back down until she’d won.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated, feeling a burst of relief when her eyes went as wide as saucers and she choked on the words that spilled from her mouth.
“Who are you? Where am I? What tongue are you speaking?” She gestured sharply, pointing at him with narrowed eyes. “What magick is this you use?”
Cian couldn’t help but be impressed by her quick reaction. All evidence of the fear and vulnerability he’d seen moments ago was gone now, replaced by indignation and fierceness. She pulled herself to her feet, standing almost level with his own six feet, and watched Cian carefully, seemingly sizing up his power.
“My name is Cian, firstborn of clan Boswells. I mean you no harm.” Cian felt the trickle of sweat on his neck but ignored it, knowing she watched his every move. “My magic is of the earth, mostly, but I have strengths in all the elements.”
She tilted her head to study him. “I have witnessed elemental magicks. They are… passionate. My magicks are rooted in the spirit of the land, in the great groves that provide life and demand death.” A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth then disappeared. “What tongue were you speaking? Where am I?”
“We’re in Ireland.” Cian frowned when she showed no recognition. “Éire?” The tension in her face eased a bit as she obviously recognized the old Gaelic word. Curious, Cian thought. “And I’m speaking English.” He cocked an eyebrow at her look of disgust, and asked, “What form of Gaelic is it you’re speaking?”
“True Gaelic,” she angled her head to look at him with narrowed eyes. “So, are you one of them? An Englishman?” She nearly spat the word out.
Cian picked up on the censure in her tone and was immediately turned off by her prejudice. He cocked an eyebrow at the strange woman and shook his head. “Actually, I was born here, as were my parents and my parent's parents. But, we are Roma,” he said proudly, “not English.”
“You’re a Traveler?” Her eyes lit up in interest and Cian felt his opinion of her rise again. So many people dismissed his people as gypsies, using the hated term against them like a barb. Few called them by the old word and reacted with such interest during an encounter.
“I am.” He nodded regally as he would at his parents’ side during a formal event. “May I ask who you are?”
Her eyes flashed with pride. “I am Ashlynn. Firstborn to Conal and Aoife, High Priest and Priestess of the people of the Oak, heir to clan Kavanaugh.” Her response was equally formal.
Clan Kavanaugh, Cian mused. It was a name of significance in Ireland. The Kings
and Queens of olde had carried that name with pride but it had been many a year since there had been a Kavanaugh in these parts. Or any parts, for that matter.
Maybe she’d hit her head or her magic had transported her there from another part of the world. He’d heard of things like that. Still, she looked like she belonged in a Medieval fairy-tale and spoke with what sounded like a Gaelic tongue. Were there still tribes in Northern Ireland maybe who practiced the old tongue and dressed up like their ancestors for special occasions? That made the most sense, he supposed. Then a ridiculous thought made him pause. What if… “Ashlynn, what year is it?”
She tilted her head and frowned as if it were the stupidest question she’d ever been asked. “What year? It’s what your people would call the year of our Lord 1716.”
Cian felt as if the ground had simply dissolved under his feet. His mind spun. He’d spent his entire life studying magic under the influence of the best tutors in the world, thanks to his parents, and he’d never come across any spell that could allow time travel. It just wasn’t possible.
Was it?
“Are you sure?” He thought furiously back to his history lessons, trying to remember the events of the eighteenth century. Flashbacks to his sister’s endless Netflix binging of Outlander had his eyebrows rising. “The Jacobite rebellion…” he trailed off when her eyes lit up in recognition.
“We aren’t to involve ourselves in the issues of the common people.” She sighed heavily as if this was an uneasy topic for her. “But, I cannot help it, they are still my people, even if they don’t know I exist.”
“They don’t?” Cian focused on staying outwardly calm while his mind rioted silently. Unless she was insane or had a major head injury, the gorgeous woman standing before him looking as if she were plucked from the past, was a time traveler.
She shook her head and frowned. “Of course they don’t. Do the common people here know of your magicks?” Her eyes fixed on his. “Wait, why did you ask the year?” Her gaze raked over his clothes then down at her own. “Sir Cian, what year is it to you?”
Reigning Magicks Page 2