Solstice Song (Pagan Passion Book 1)

by Colleen Charles

  “But, bathing outdoors?” I wave my hands around like an idiot. “Don’t tell me you enjoy that? What if someone saw you?”

  He moves toward me, stopping a few feet away from where I stand clutching the towel to my chest as if the flimsy fabric could protect me if he decides to shake me to a bloody pulp. I shrink from the coldness in his stare as much as from the air temperature.

  “If someone saw me?” He snorts. “I’d invite her to join me. Who in hades do yer think is goin’ to wander onto my property? The water comes from outside, so I bathe outside. It cleanses the soul as much as it cleanses the body. Then it drains away to the outside, nay plumbin’ needed. Nay waste. Nay pipes or drains to clog. We weren’t meant to live indoors, yer know. We’re still part of the animal kingdom.”

  He holds me prisoner to his heated gaze for a frozen minute, then turns and walks back to the cottage, leaving me blinking in bewilderment. I see rage there but something else lingers there too. A fierceness that resembles passion. Ronan has some pretty strong—and pretty weird—beliefs from my vantage point.

  He’s right.

  I don’t have to like it, but I do have to respect it because he’s offered me all the hospitality he possesses. I regret what I’ve said, both now and yesterday. I should have been more gracious.

  Vowing to do better from now on, I step inside the shower enclosure, finding pegs on the wall for my towel and clothes. I pick up a round ball of soap from a corner ledge and hold it to my nose. The shape and texture say handmade, and the aroma of mint and other woodsy herbs make me smile in spite of the circumstances. It smells like him. That agonizing throbbing in my lady parts starts up again as I give the soap another deep inhale, imagining Ronan standing in this shower with me. It’s crazy, but I’m actually starting to feel a bit earth-mother-ish myself in these rustic surroundings.

  I undress and give the chain an experimental pull. Water pours through a reasonably modern-looking shower head attached to a pipe running from the tank. Warm enough, considering it’s been heated on a stove and carried here by hand. What a fascinating process. It makes me wonder how often Ronan showers, considering the toil it took just to have one. But I’m freezing my ass off in spite of the growing heat between my legs, so I stop analyzing and jump under the warm torrent of water.

  Unfortunately, I have to stop the flow while I soap up, and my teeth chatter in the uncomfortable intervals between rinses. On second thought, fuck this Earth Mother shit. It’s nice in theory, but it’s too fucking painful in reality. I pull the chain one last time and close my eyes against the dump of water pouring over my head. They snap open again as I hear the most blood-curdling growl from just a few feet away. I let go of the chain and scream.

  A black snout and a mouthful of pointed teeth poke through the curtain. The thing snarls and then barks, almost like a dog. I grab for the towel and cover myself, as though the thin cloth will offer some kind of protection against the hideous creature.

  “Get out!” I scream, quivering where I stand. My wails seem to only encourage it to enter further, shoving its flat head with a white stripe down the middle directly inside. My God, it looks as ferocious and hungry as an angry grizzly bear, the rest of its hulking body covered in grey-black fur. Its beady eyes appear full of murderous intent.

  “Help!” I cry, backing away from it as far as possible in a phone-booth sized space.

  Its horrific smell assaults my nostrils, accompanied by dank and rotten breath. It barges its way in, teeth bared, opening the curtain to the frosty outdoors.

  “Help!” I wail again, terrified and blinded by the resulting cloud of steam.

  Headlines flash before my eyes as I steel myself for the pain of being shredded from limb to limb.

  Pop Princess Savannah Starr dies in remote Irish backwoods, eaten by bear.

  Chapter Six

  Ronan

  By Mother Nature, the woman is the most vexing creature I’ve ever come across. All I tried to do is help her out, and look where it’s gotten me. She hates everything, slags my home and my country, and acts as if I should be prostrating at her feet for some reason.

  Don’t you know who I am?

  I growl inside as I refill the stove’s water reservoir, having emptied pretty much all of it so that Princess Savannah won’t freeze her wee tushie off. And it isn’t that wee, my aching cock reminds me. She has a bit of a caboose going on in the back. Two perfect round globes of flesh for a man to grab onto when she’s on all fours, but what thanks do I get for my trouble? Not even a lick and a promise for all of that.

  I decide I should get Mateo ready for the trip to town, so I don my mack and go to unlatch the connecting door to his shed when I hear him whinnying frantically from inside.

  “What’s the craic, me boy?” I swing both sections of the door open to find him pacing and pawing the ground along the adjacent wall. “Steady on, lad…what’s the…” My query’s cut short by a piercing scream from the other side of said wall.

  “Get out!” A long pause. “Help! Help!”

  What the feck? I run past the frantic horse and open the shed gate rather than going back through the cottage. I nearly fall on my arse taking the slippery corner around the shed. “Oh my God, Help me!” Savannah shrieks. I regain my footing and plunge on toward the shower. The curtain flaps about, issuing puffs of steam from within, and some movement catches the corner of my eye.

  I glance over only in time to see a shuffle of tree boughs at the edge of the wood, and a trail of paw prints leading to the spot. “Ach, hold on!” I yell. “What’s the matter?” I reach the shower just as Savannah’s dark, wet head peers out, the curtain clutched up to her chin.

  “A bear!” she wails, her eyes wild in terror. “A goddamn bear attacked me!”

  “Calm down, there’s not been a bear on this Isle since the tenth century. What did yer see?”

  “It was big, and black, with pointy teeth,” she sobs, and I can’t help but lean forward and take her shivering form into my arms. I can smell her woman’s heat straight through my Mack but now’s not the time to explore it. “It came right in and growled at me, and its claws…” she pauses, catching her breath and holding up her hands. “It had long, sharp claws like a grizzly’s. It could have ripped me apart.”

  I can tell she’s scared, but I can’t stifle a laugh at her overblown description and the look of sheer terror on her pale face. Her breath turns to vapor in the cold air and strands of her wet hair coil across her cheeks. They’ll be frozen in place if I don’t get her dry in a hair’s breadth.

  “Oh, give over now. ‘Twas probably just a rabbit or the neighbor’s dog. Nay need to get a bee in yer bonnet.”

  She stabs me with a poisonous green-eyed glare likely meant to slay me where I stand. In a huff, she pulls away from my warm arms and hides back in the shower. I immediately feel the loss of her against me. “I know what I saw!” She pokes me in the chest with her finger. “Don’t make fun of me, you…you…”

  “What?” I tilt my chin, still chuckling at her melodramatics. I step nearer to her shivering form as she hides behind the curtain. The wet material sticks to her curvy shape, and I catch a glimpse of bare skin here and there. I want to pull her against me again, so I do. Right fecking now. “What am I now, still Grizzly Adamson? Or the abominable snowman, as it were?”

  “Ugh! It’s Grizzly Adams,” she squawks, stepping back and snapping the curtain closed. “I don’t know what you are, besides crazy.”

  I fold my arms and stand my ground, amused at seeing her bare feet dance around below the curtain as she dries and dresses. They’re bonny wee feet, delicately boned and with toenails painted the same shade of red as her fingernails.

  “This whole place is crazy,” she mumbles between heaving sobs. My grin turns to a frown as I realize how truly upset she is and feel an unwelcome twinge in my heart that she so dislikes my place, my facilities—and most of all me. Best I get her out of here post-haste. My twitching dick takes a stand-down.


  “Well, yer be shut of it soon,” I say grimly. “And don’t worry, I’ll stand guard out here against any more bears ‘til yer ready. Then we’ll head for town, yer can get a spot of breakfast there if yer like. My sister owns the inn in town. Been in my family for generations. Right good meals there, if yer ask me.”

  I glance around the clearing, wondering what could have been brash enough to approach the cottage. Obviously, there is some kind of animal about, as evidenced by the footprints and Mateo’s reaction. But certainly not a bear.

  As if on cue, Mateo plods toward me having taken the open shed gate as a hint.

  “Yer knew somethin’ was afoot, didn’t yer, boy?” I pat him on his massive shoulder, admiring his glossy black coat. His hindquarters measure nearly a meter across, ample space and strength for carrying multiple riders. He gives a soft whinny and nudges my arm, looking for his own breakfast. “Aye, yer get yer feed in a tick,” I assure him with another loving pat. Some days, Mateo’s my only companion. I have a way with animals. Always have. Knew it since I nursed an orphan squirrel back to health the summer of my fifth year.

  Suddenly, the curtain whips back, and I hear a frightened gasp. “Oh my God. What is that monster doing out here?”

  I turn to see Savannah standing there, once again dressed in her form-fitting attire, but this time with a towel wrapped around her head.

  “Huh?”

  She points a long fingernail at me. “Is my showering the entertainment feature for your entire farm? Because in that case, the show’s over! Buy a ticket like everyone else!”

  “Ach, take it easy, woman.” All of my sympathy drains away. “Mateo’s just lookin’ out for yer. He alerted me to yer distress, so don’t be slagging him. He’s very sensitive, and our lift into town, so he is.”

  She scans Mateo’s imposing bulk from head to hoof, the whites of her wide green eyes showing. “I’m not getting on that thing,” she declares, her lips trembling, whether from fright or the cold, I can’t be sure. “I’ve had enough of wild animals for one day.”

  “He’s hardly wild,” I answer, stroking his forehead, puzzled over her reaction since she’d already met the animal yesterday. But only his head. I suppose his full profile is a tad more intimidating. I frown as another thought occurs to me. “Yer not afraid of horses, are yer?”

  Savannah edges sideways as if making ready to bolt. “I’m afraid of really large horses…like this one. And airplanes. I’m deathly afraid of airplanes.”

  I shake my head, turn Mateo around, and begin to lead him back to the shed for his feed.

  “Well, yer got two choices,” I call over my shoulder. “Ride or walk. Or flag a car and hitchhike. I ‘av to warn yer though. Cars only putter by about five times a day. I guess that’s a few options. Me, I’m headin’ into town on me lad, here. Take yer pick.”

  I turn my back on her, expecting some indignant tirade to issue from her lips, but surprisingly, hear nothing. I keep on walking, until the relative safety of the shed shelters both me and Mateo from any further tongue-lashing.

  With the Yule festivities just days away, I really should be busy with the preparations rather than playing nursemaid to this high-strung American woman. Maybe I’m barmy like she says. It’s my own fault in the end. I could have just turned back home when I came across her motor coach. Her safety’s not my concern. But something told me it’s important. The Cailleach Beare is never wrong. Big things are about to happen for Wintervale soon, and finding the bus seemed like an omen and a chance to do something good.

  Savannah Starr is an omen all right. Of how right I’d been in choosing the life I now lead. Free of materialistic obsession, of technology and dependence on others. Trusting in the cycles of nature to bring meaning to one’s existence. She isn’t the sort who would ever understand that, and given our mutual interest in music, that realization saddens me more than it should.

  I shake off my useless musings, and after he’s fed and readied, I bring Mateo around to the front of the cottage. To my surprise, wee Miss Pop Starr waits on the porch, bundled in her coat and scarf, her bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Goin’ somewhere?” I ask, hiding a smirk.

  Savannah squares her shoulders in defiance. Sparks fly from every cell in her body, I’ll give her that. Part of me wishes the ride to town were longer. If I had more time, maybe she’d soften enough that I could have my fill of her before I send her away.

  With her gone, I’m not sure how I’m going to slake this aching lust without giving Mary the wrong idea. Every time I fuck the town woman to assuage my man’s needs, she tries to manipulate the physical act into something more than an offhand claiming.

  It occurs to me I could pretend to take a ‘shortcut,’ but dismiss the idea just as quickly. The sooner she’s out of my cottage, my mind, and my cock’s indiscriminate sights, the better.

  “Under the circumstances, and since there are limited options, I’d like a ride to town, please,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes. Apparently, crow isn’t on her personal menu. “Right now.”

  I adjust Mateo’s stirrups and pat my hand on the saddle in invitation. “Since yer said please, by all means. Climb aboard.”

  She hesitates, glancing suspiciously between me and the horse. I pat the saddle again. She steps toward us, attempting to retain her haughty air in spite of her lopsided gait on her damn broken heel, and comes to a stop a few feet away.

  She lifts a regal looking brow. “Well?”

  “Oh…” I splay one hand on my stomach, feigning ignorance. “A pox upon me…did yer require assistance, milady?”

  She fixes her emerald gaze on me, and again, I feel an unsettling wave of familiarity. Like a name or a word exists on the tip of my tongue but slips away before I can utter it. I watch her pomegranate-red lips move as if in slow motion.

  “Yes. Please.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ronan

  “’Tis dead easy, yer see.”

  She looks at my extended hand nervously. “Okay.”

  She takes it, somewhat reluctantly, but my fingers close around her palm as though capturing a small bird. Something seems different than the last time I held her hand. Now that I’m not using her arm as a plough lead, I sense trust in her grip.

  “He’s big, but he’s gentle as a lamb, so he is,” I assure her, drawing her closer. I transfer her hand to the saddle’s pommel and fit her left foot in the stirrup. “I’ll give yer a boost if yer need it, but just hoist yerself up and swing yer right leg over.”

  She bites her shiny red lip. “H-he won’t bolt or rear up, will he?”

  I chuckle at the picture of the heavy animal up on his hinds, front hooves pawing the air like the Hi Ho Silver I heard about as a boy. Not fecking likely, woman. I’d trust this horse with my life.

  “Nay, he’s steady as a rock, so he is. He’s used to riders.”

  She pulls herself upward, issuing a ‘harrumph’ of exertion, but loses momentum before she gets her other leg around. I suppose that singer-songwriters don’t get a lot of physical exercise, and before her generous rump can fall backward again, I slap both palms square on her plump cheeks and push.

  “What are you…?”

  “Up yer go.” I apply the promised boost, very aware of the two soft orbs of female flesh I hold in my hands. I try not to think about it as she squawks in surprise but finally swings her right leg successfully over Mateo’s wide back. “See? Nothin’ to it. Hold on while I be mountin’ up.”

  She inhales a startled breath as I slide in behind her, my crotch landing hard against her ass, my thighs encasing hers on either side. This is going to be the longest damn ride of my life. If I can keep my cock from poking her in the back, I’ll consider it a miracle.

  She wiggles in the seat. “Must you sit so close?”

  “Not much choice about it.” I refrain from inching closer and take hold of the reins. “Try relaxin’ a bit, will yer? Nay call to be so uptight. Just enjoy the ride, if that be a po
ssibility for yer.”

  I immediately regret my choice of words.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I turn Mateo toward the trail that leads to the highway and snap the reins. Savannah jerks backward and falls against my chest as Mateo responds to my command.

  “Well, yer been on about somethin’ ever since I found yer in yer clapped-out bombardier, so yer ‘av. Seems there’s nay pleasin’ yer, woman, so I’m givin’ up. Yer win. Yer be on yer way to town, and will soon see the backside of me and me rustic home.”

  Her head whips around. “I—”

  Damn woman. I growl deep in my lungs. “Will yer do a man a favor for the next hour and keep quiet? Then at least I can enjoy the ride even ‘tis beneath yer tender sensibilities.”

  I shift the reins to one hand then slip one arm around her waist, secretly liking the warmth and weight of her body trapped against mine. My mind drifts to her warm pussy just inches from my fingers, and I wonder if she’s wet.

  “You can let go of me,” she says with annoyance.

  “Yer don’t want to be fallin’ off now, do yer? Me poor ears’d never hear the end of that. This here’s the only style of seatbelt available. Safety first, eh?”

  I squeeze her midsection even tighter. I hear a sigh of exasperation, then silence. Thank Brighid. Mateo’s feathered fetlocks plod fearlessly through the drifts of melting snow on the trail. A farm tractor couldn’t have been more steady or sure, and he seems delighted to be out in the weather by the way he tosses his head and voluminous mane, snorting puffs of steam into the chilly air.

  Fat flakes of snow that hang on the tree branches create a sparkling white arbor for us to pass through as we journey forward. I inhale deeply, though it freezes the hairs in my nose and mustache. I revel in the burn of cold air in my lungs, in my connection to nature, to the elements, the earth and its creatures. It’s my chosen way and the way of my family and friends who have all made Wintervale their home. And I wouldn’t change it. Not one bit of it. This place is safe for us to practice our beliefs in peace and mutual support of each other.