Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9

by Christy Nicholas

  The creature chuckled again. She judged him to be three hands taller than herself, taller even than Adhna. Where had Adhna gone? He should be here protecting them, not leaving them alone with this strange Fae.

  Aileran woke behind her with a plaintive wail. Etromma pulled her string back. With an unconscious gesture, Clíodhna put a hand over her belly, protecting her unborn baby.

  “You need not be afraid of me, mortal woman. Adhna spoke of you, and I came to help you escape. I can bring you to a place where the men who search for you can never find you, not in a thousand winters.”

  He did not specifically say Adhna sent him. If such an eventuality had been so necessary, Adhna would have offered it. Clíodhna clenched her teeth.

  Bodach took a step toward her, his arm outstretched. His fingers had half-formed buds on them, like flowers trying to break free of thick bark. She gulped and took a step back.

  “If you come with me, sweet Clíodhna, you may live in my home like a queen. I shall shower you with wealth and beauty. All the flowers of the spring shall be your hair, and all the rainbows of the rainstorm will be your cloak. You will dance until the Faerie Queen herself falls into slumber.”

  Visions of Faerie spun in her head. Her mind swam with whirling bodies of beautiful dancing, gossamer fabrics, and bright laughter tripped around her imagination. Clíodhna ran her fingers through her hair, trying to dispel the visions. Had Bodach planted them in her mind with Faerie magic? She’d never seen such things in her life.

  And yet, his offer seemed tempting. She’d grown so tired of straining, working hard to protect her family, life, and independence.

  His smile deepened, perhaps sensing her doubt. One finger stroked her forearm, tracing a delicate line along the muscle.

  Clíodhna shivered. It had been feather-light, like Adhna’s kisses that first night. A sweet burning traveled up her arm and into her bones in a sensual wave of release. The tingling crept down into her belly and cleft. She caught her breath at the sheer potency of his caress.

  Without thinking, she placed her hand over his, covering his rough bark with her palm. The energy which flowed through his skin to hers crackled like lightning. She couldn’t move, rooted to her spot with desire and terror.

  His power, both destructive and sexual, coursed through her, fiercer than any river rapids. Stronger than any pleasure she’d ever felt, more intense than directing a thunderstorm. It rippled into her bones and out to her fingers. Her head pulsed with unbearable pressure, thrumming with both ecstasy and agony.

  Clíodhna finally dropped her hand, and the sensation ceased. She crumpled to the ground as her vision grew gray.

  Donn’s voice filtered through her haze. “Ma? Ma! What did you do to her?”

  The twang of Etromma’s bow, a thunk, and Bodach’s scratchy laugh drowned out her son. “Younglings, have no fear. Your birth-giver is unharmed. She will rise again. But you should all come with me, for your own survival.”

  Etromma’s answer came firm and steady. “We will not! And we won’t let you take Ma, either!”

  After forcing her eyes open, Clíodhna watched as Bodach approached Etromma with an open hand. She must not allow the Fae to touch her daughter. She pushed to her feet, stumbling forward until she fell into the intruder.

  His bark-like skin seemed as solid as an oak trunk. No wonder he laughed when Etromma shot him. How could mere mortals harm such a creature? For her childrens’ sake, she must.

  Clíodhna gathered earth magic up through the cave floor, pulling in strong tendrils and snaked vines of blue power, building it into her hands. She scrambled to put Bodach between her and the cave’s mouth. Both Donn and Etromma moved behind her.

  Once she steadied her feet, she lifted both hands and shot the power out like an arrow, to the center of Bodach’s chest.

  His eyes grew wide with surprise, and he took several staggered steps away. She didn’t wait for him to recover. After drawing in power once again, Clíodhna slammed it against the intruding Fae, pushing him back. He fell almost to the cave mouth. One more push, and he should be out.

  His eyes narrowed as he pulled his own power around him, crackling orange lightning in his flower-fingers. “You will not be so lucky next time, mortal woman! I leave you to your misery. But take heed! You will regret rejecting me.”

  His form faded into nothing. Clíodhna couldn’t tell if her own fatigue affected her vision, or if he dissipated. She cared little which. She collapsed to the cave floor, all energy and power drained in the battle.

  Dimly aware of Donn pulling her to her blankets, and Etromma guarding the entrance with her drawn bow, a distressed chittering came from behind her. She turned her head to see Ishc, the nuckelavee, peeking above the water line. “Is it safe? Is he gone?”

  She mumbled some reassurance before succumbing to exhausted sleep.

  Clíodhna’s dreams haunted her since Bodach’s visit, filled with images of wealth, treasure, and inhuman delights but also exquisite torture and yearning hunger.

  She drifted in and out of consciousness, her recovery slow and painful. Her stomach gripped with throbbing pain, keeping her from true rest. She feared for her pregnancy. Tossing and turning even as she slept, a few times she even rose without waking, stumbling into the cave walls.

  After the second incident, Donn fashioned twine into a net. He tied it over her as she slept to keep her flailing and wandering down. The first time she woke thus restrained, she screamed, certain she remained in her dream, held by the bark-skinned Fae.

  Her scream echoed against the cavern walls, bouncing and increasing with each breath, making her screech even harder. The sound hurt her head and she clutched at her ears, rocking back and forth to ease the anguish.

  Both children rushed to her side, kneeling to hug her.

  Etromma whispered in her ear. “Ma, it’s fine! You’re fine. You’re awake. Nothing is wrong. We’re safe.”

  The cries receded into the distance, all the sounds drumming against the inside of her skull and fading into a dull ache. Etromma brought Aileran to feed and Clíodhna fell once again into restless slumber.

  Days passed like this, and still she did not regain her full senses.

  Donn and Etromma’s voices drifted into her hearing, concern and uncertainty clear in their voices. Clíodhna concentrated on their words, trying to make sense of them. Reason and order seeped into her thoughts.

  Etromma sobbed. “What if she never gets better? Should we take her to the healer in the village?”

  “No, no, never that! The Abbot would take us away.”

  “But what should we do?”

  Donn clicked his tongue. “Maybe we can find Adhna? He had magic. He might cure her.”

  “But how do we call him?”

  “I’m not sure. Let me think about it.”

  Clíodhna wanted to tell them Adhna didn’t come when called, like a hound. He arrived when he wished, like the clouds. She might call the clouds now, with the rain, thunder, and lightning. It occurred to her that she should have used that against Bodach, but how do you pull wind into a cave? She’d drawn on the earth magic, all she had access to in the cave, to protect herself and her family, rather than air magic.

  Would she get the chance to learn more about air magic when Adhna returned?

  She licked her lips, dry and cracked. When she tried to ask for water, only a raspy croak emerged. Etromma leapt to her side.

  “Ma? Ma, what do you need?”

  “Wa-er.”

  Her daughter fumbled around for a moment before pressing the water skin to her mouth. “We got you to drink when you woke, but you never made sense.”

  The sweet, cool liquid dribbled down her cheek and into her throat. Clíodhna drank a little, swished it around in her mouth, and drank some more. After her thirst had been slaked, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “How long?”

  Her children exchanged glances. “A while. But you sound better now.”

  Frowning, she pressed. �
�How long did I sleep?”

  Another nervous glance, and Donn answered, “Eight nights.”

  Bolting upright, Clíodhna swore. “Eight nights? Son of a diseased donkey. Eight nights!” She searched for Aileran, but he slept in his bed. Her breasts felt normal, so Etromma must have placed him there for feeding. The children seemed unharmed, though their expressions were marked with concern. Eight nights!

  Flashes of memory seeped into her mind, wrestling with each other and jockeying for attention. She couldn’t tell if they were real memories, dream images, or something different. Clutching her head, she scrunched her eyes shut, trying to block the visions and noises assaulting her.

  When she emerged again from the chaos, both children had her in a tight hug.

  Someone darkened the cave entrance, and she tensed, expecting Bodach’s return. Instead, a stranger stood glowering. Hairy and unkempt, he looked like a wild man.

  Etromma stood and snatched her bow from where it had dropped. “Who are you?”

  Donn retrieved his iron pot on its chain. Clíodhna didn’t attempt to rise, knowing her legs would fail her after so many nights of inaction. Instead, she scowled at the intruder, waiting for his answer.

  How had this man found them? Adhna had assured her the cave lay hidden from anyone in the village. Humans should not be able to discover the path. Bodach had found them, but he had been Fae.

  The rough stranger grunted, an animal sound, neither word nor response. His gaze swiveled from Etromma to Donn and finally rested on Clíodhna. “I know you.”

  She exchanged glances with each of her children, searching for some knowledge of the man. Etromma shrugged, while Donn visibly gulped. Something in his voice, though, touched a memory. If only hers hadn’t been scrambled from her recovery, perhaps she’d be able to place where she remembered him from. If she knew him.

  He grunted again, a noncommittal noise that might mean anything. Then he let out a gravelly cough of a growl, dribbling some spittle into his tangled beard. A wave of noisome rot reached Clíodhna, and she coughed at the stench.

  He lifted a gnarled, dirty finger and jabbed it in her direction. “You. You’re my wife.”

  Clíodhna grasped at the memories she held of her husband. Branches and leaves stuck in his tangled beard and hair, dressed in gray and brown rags, with dirt rubbed deep into the creases of his skin. He’d not even been gone a cycle of the seasons. How had he become this… this creature? He looked like a wild Fae, something from the depths of the undergrowth, a forest sídhe.

  And yet, his eyes held a hint of a twinkle, of that humor she remembered. Those crystal blue eyes, surrounded by laugh lines when he told a story. Images fell into place, and she recognized him for her long-lost lover, her husband, the father of her children. “Oisinne? Is that really you?”

  At the sound of his name, his wandering eyes snapped to her gaze, and she remembered him. With hesitant steps, he approached her.

  Etromma, still cautious, refused to relinquish her bow, but Donn put down the pot and came to help Clíodhna to her feet. When Oisinne came close, they shared an awkward embrace before his pong made her gag.

  She held him at arms-length, both out of concern and to keep nausea at bay. “Oisinne, where have you been? We thought you’d died moons ago!”

  He cocked his head but didn’t answer. His gaze darted from place to place within the cave, nervous and flighty like a hummingbird.

  “The first thing we need to do is get you a bath. Come, there’s a stream in the back of the cavern. Let’s dunk you in.”

  Ishc the nuckelavee fled upstream into the darkness.

  * * *

  Clíodhna got Oisinne washed and into clean clothes, but she couldn’t coax any details of his disappearance from him. His eyes often darted to the dark corners of the cave, but nothing lurked in the shadows.

  He might have been taken by the Faeries. All the old tales told of people disappearing and then coming home, confused about time and place. This described Oisinne precisely. He hummed or rocked at odd times or stared into space. Several times, especially out in the forest, he’d startled into a violent spasm, as if something had hit him. Yet nothing had.

  Regardless of where he’d been, she felt relieved he’d returned. While she cherished her freedom, she also treasured the safety of her family. With a man in the house, she’d be less subject to the prejudice which had threatened them in the last few moons.

  They ran out of meat. Adhna hadn’t visited in a while with more supplies. It might be awkward to get help from her Fae lover, now that her husband had returned. Perhaps they should go home. Perhaps with a husband, Patraic might not feel so threatened by her independence. Clíodhna contemplated how she’d broach the subject to Oisinne as they ate their supper.

  The rain drummed in a steady rhythm. The small family watched as rivulets described artistic spirals and swirls in the trodden dirt outside, reminiscent of artwork on ancient stones, curvilinear and complex.

  How her life had changed in the last few moons, like those curved lines. Doubling back, crossing, braiding, and twisting in a single line, yet full of complexity, beauty, and confusion. The pattern maintained balance and symmetry. While she’d lost much, she’d also gained much, with her newfound talent for magic, the knowledge of her Fae blood, and now the return of her husband.

  Oisinne swung between violent madness and quiet peace. Occasional snippets of conversation with actual sense peeked through now and then, and Clíodhna treasured these few windows into her past marriage.

  She leaned her back into him as they sat around the small fire. Oisinne shifted to put his arm around her, like when they courted. “Are you comfortable, husband?”

  “I am.”

  Pressing her hand on her still-flat stomach, Clíodhna grasped at a bare memory of Adhna’s love, but pushed it away. Oisinne squeezed her shoulder and smiled. Sure, his smile seemed tentative and confused, but that should change with time.

  He rarely started conversations but might answer when spoken to. One-word answers were better than growls or grunts, she supposed. Someday, she might even get her laughing, story-teller husband back again.

  A brief flash of Odhrán’s infectious laugh intruded in her daydreams. She shook it away. That part of her life had finished. He’d gone to his new post long since, and she might never see him again. Her body tingled at the memory of that last night and their passionate lovemaking.

  Oisinne rubbed her arms and squeezed her shoulders. The caress wandered up to her neck, where he traced a single finger along her cheek line. He hummed with no tune as he touched her. Clíodhna closed her eyes in pleasure. She’d forgotten how considerate a lover he’d been. Not as gentle as Adhna, but maybe he could erase her longing for Odhrán and Adhna both.

  His voice rumbled against her. “Etromma, Clíodhna tells me we’re short of meat. When the rain lets up, can you go hunting? It’s been a long time since I shot the bow, but I trust you’ve kept practice?”

  Startled, their daughter nodded. Donn exchanged a glance with his sister and then looked at Aileran. “I could take Aileran down to the river. He likes to watch the fish when they jump.”

  Oisinne chuckled. “A grand idea, son.”

  This conversation contained more words than he’d yet said since his return. Perhaps his recovery would come more quickly than she’d thought. His hand traveled down her spine and to her waist, kneading the muscles of her back. Clíodhna groaned and leaned forward. He took the invitation and rubbed all along the length of her spine, pressing hard into her muscles. She let out a small moan of pleasure.

  Etromma stood, grabbing her cloak. “The rain’s lightened. I’ll go now.”

  Clíodhna sat up. “Etromma! You’ll get your bowstring wet!”

  Her daughter gave her a cocky grin. “I’ll keep it dry while I’m tracking. My cloak is oiled well enough.”

  Donn stood, glancing in the direction his sister went. “I should check the traps I laid yesterday.”

&nbs
p; He, too, disappeared into the now misty day. The rain had eased, but not stopped.

  Oisinne whispered. “It seems we’ve raised wise children.”

  She turned to face him, cross-legged on the cave floor. “They are at least considerate and observant.”

  “As I said.” He put a finger on her lips and leaned in. Clíodhna surrendered to his kiss, though his lips still felt rough and cracked from his time alone. He pushed her back, kissing her neck until he lay on top of her. With fumbling hands, he pushed her léine up to her hips and pulled his manhood out. It already stood stiff and thick, but she pulled away.

  “Wait, I’m not ready yet.”

  He pushed her down on the floor and shoved inside her. She cried out in surprise and pain, but as he rocked in and out, she forced herself to relax to the inevitable. He had the right as her husband. She must accept his attentions. While gritting her teeth, the sexual tingling in her own body finally responded. By the time he finished, she’d almost reached her own climax, their sweat intermingling with the mud on the cavern floor.

  Oisinne lay upon her, his heavy weight pressing down. It reminded her of the netting they had rigged over her, and she needed to be up and free. Clíodhna struggled to get out from under him. He opened his eyes and laughed. “Oh, you want more?”

  She didn’t want more, but he stroked her below until his manhood came ready. At least he moved from on top of her while he readied her, giving her time to breathe. By the time he re-entered her, her body welcomed him, even as her mind denied him. Again, they rocked in passionate rhythm.

  Once making love to her husband had been a joy. Now it seemed a chore. He’d become a stranger, someone with high demands but little familiarity. At least this time he brought her to her own pleasure before he spent his.

  Aileran’s whimpers roused her from her post-coital drowsiness. She extracted herself from her husband’s flaccid embrace and went to feed her baby, tying her hair in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. As he sucked, she glanced down at her belly. Clíodhna would show soon, though. Her husband’s return and his reassertion of his rights might be a useful thing.