by Lily Silver
Since learning the truth behind her tormented dreams, Tara was anxious to learn more about her Fey ancestry. She sat down with the awkward quill pen and journal to list everything she heard about the fey since her arrival here. Tara asked the maids questions, pretending that as an American she had little knowledge of the local lore and wanted to understand it.
As she read her compiled notes, Tara decided she needed to do some field research. Her people lived in the mountains, rather, inside the mountains, to be exact. There were portals everywhere leading to the outside world. Adrian had mentioned a secret place where he’d played as a boy and encountered members of her race. He said they warned him about someone like Tara coming to him one day; a fey who was lost in the world of men. Dan has also mentioned a place beneath the mountains with standing stones where Adrian took him when they’d had their private talk.
Tara wanted to go there. She knew now she had to go there. She hoped that in going her own kind would make contact with her or if she might find a portal where she could go to them. She had to do it before they left for Dublin, as she feared they might not return here again.
And she had to do it alone.
Chapter Twenty Six
She waited until Adrian left the castle to attend his estate business. Maggie procured clothing for her from one of her adolescent brothers. Tara hastily changed into the boy’s costume in her room. Maggie hadn’t brought her any suitable shoes for tramping in the woods. At the last minute, they discovered a pair of Miss Althea’s riding boots that fit well enough. They were a little big. Apparently the girl had large feet, yet not so much so that Tara couldn’t make use of them.
Once the coast was clear Tara followed Maggie down the servant’s stairs and out the back kitchen door with none of the staff the wiser. The girl also provided Tara with a guide to take her to the ancient stones—Maggie’s eight year old brother, Kellan. The lad was adorable. He had large blue eyes, a thick crop of curly reddish brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles spotting his upturned nose and cheeks. He remained quiet, as if he were afraid to speak to the mistress of Glengarra as he led her down the narrow, fern lined path away from the castle.
Dressed in the loose brown cape, woolen breeches and hose of an 18th century lad, Tara followed the boy through the verdant emerald woodland. She had bound her hair and pinned it up under a woolen cap so she might be taken for a boy if they encountered men along the way. The path Kellan took led them first through a forest that descended gradually onto flat plains. Blue grey mountains ringed with silver mist towered in the distance.
Tara was breathless as she followed the boy across the rock strewn plain. The land was so rugged and so lovely. It had a mystical undercurrent. The green winter fields were dotted with mounds of rocks and sheep, herds of sheep belonging to the Dillon family. With February nearly behind them, the weather was not as cold and frosty as it had been during their journey to Cork and to Seafield House earlier in the month.
Kellan led Tara steadily toward the mountains. As they approached the foothills, Tara was struck mute with awe at the fierce beauty of this ancient and magical land. Unlike the fertile Wisconsin farm land she had grown accustomed to, the Beara Peninsula was a difficult place to eke out a living as a farmer. Sparse scrubs of brush dotted the land and numerous stones rose up out of the earth like a boon crop for a construction company. It didn’t seem suitable for traditional farming methods of planting and plowing. The grassy, rock hewn plains seemed a perfect place to raise sheep as the expansive rolling hills and deep carpeted valleys produced endless grazing grounds.
The morning dew lingered and a fine mist of ethereal grey shrouded the landscape. Tara saw the stone monoliths rising up out of the earth ahead of them like silent sentries before the boy ahead of her stopped to point them out.
“There, Mum.” Kellan pointed to the rising incline and the mound of grass dotted with massive rocks that formed a circle, a fairy ring.
Beyond the sacred stones was a small, placid lake fed by a magnificent waterfall flowing down the side of the mountain on the opposite shore. Her insides danced and skittered with excitement. Beyond the lake, within the mountain lived her family.
“Thank you, Kellan. Wait for me down here. I’ll just be a little while.”
“Aye, my lady.” Kellan bowed to her and took a seat on a mossy rock. He picked up a stick and began drawing in the ground at his feet with it. “I’m allowed no further. My mother says not to go into the circle, for if I do I’ll never return to her. Tis a place of magic. You shouldn’t go there either. The little folk will not be pleased if we trespass.”
“I’ll be fine.” Tara assured him. “I’ll be back in short time.” She trudged up the slight incline to the top of the mound. Situated before the still lake as it was and before the towering, misty mountains, it was a place of mystery and magic.
The stones were sinking into the earth from ions of settling. They were half as tall as Tara now. She knew they had once been much taller. One stone remained taller than the others, the focal point for powerful magic. A couple of stones had been toppled and lay flat like huge oblong tables with deep cracks and soft carpets of moss creeping over the surface. She walked between them and stood silently in the circle, listening and breathing in the moist, crisp invigorating air.
Am I nuts? She wondered, her natural cynicism rising as she stood in the circle, hoping for the impossible, hoping to find her way home again after decades, perhaps centuries, of being lost and alone. There was only one way to find out.
Tara closed her eyes, and started praying; to the mountain, to the fey folk who must be nearby. Surely, they would hear her pleas? Surely, they would hear her lonely cries and come to claim her and take her home?
Nothing. A big fat nothing followed. Tara prayed aloud instead of merely thinking her request. Maybe they couldn’t hear her in their thoughts. She muttered the words softly, chanting, pleading, asking the enchanted ones to come to her.
Still nothing.
She was beginning to feel a little stupid for expecting that something would happen. Self doubt and self loathing gnawed at the edges of her expectations. She knelt on the wet earth and placed her palms down in the grass, hoping that by touching the earth, and chanting, she might summon someone to come to her.
The ground wavered beneath her. Tara sucked in her breath, frightened by the weird vibrations she could sense beneath her palms. Something was happening. Yet, what?
The verdant green misty world around her faded. Tara couldn’t see anything, anything at all. It terrified her. She’d been struck blind—or as Dan would say, the effects of the lightning had finally fried her optic nerves or detached her retinas, something logical and medical, that’s what Dan would tell her. She gasped. The sound echoed, as if she were in a hollow stone cavern. “Oh, God, what’s happening?” She cried out.
Oh, Gawd, what’s hap … pen … ning! … hap … pen … ning? Her voice came back to her in an eerie amplification.
No, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be real, she thought as her surroundings gradually came into view. It was like muddy water, with light coming through. Like being inside the Dwarf throne room on Lord of the Rings, where Gimli found his deceased cousin and kin lying dead in the dim, semi-darkness.
Tara tried to stand up. She could not. She couldn’t scream, she could only look around her with horror. She was inside a stone cavern, a palace of sorts, with a few small windows high above illuminating the interior. An empty palace. There were no corpses, like in the movie. It appeared to be abandoned. She saw an empty throne, and feast tables of carved stone sitting empty and lined with dust. “Where are they?” She asked.
“Gone, Lady mine. Gone to war, many winters past.” A thin, reedy voice answered. “The Darkling Fey declared war on our mound, accused your kith of killing their young prince. Many died, on both sides, Lady mine.”
Tara scrunched up her eyes in the hope of focusing, on finding the speaker in the gloom. “He tried to kill me.
He kidnapped me, stole me from the shore as my mother and brothers watched. He threw me into a lightning storm.”
A faint, glowing orb could be seen far across the empty stone chamber. It bobbed and bounced, meandering slowly towards her. “Yes, yes.” A very tiny creature with wings hovered before Tara, a tiny person no bigger than a sparrow. “The king told them that, and so we fought them in the hope of reclaiming our lost little princess.”
“Who are you? Are you a fairy?” Tara asked, confused by the tiny creature and her own supposed fey origins when she was a giant in comparison. “Why are you so small and I remain so large?”
“Elosir is my name, Lady mine. I am not Fey as you are. I’m a servant, a messenger who brings tidings from one mound to another, a Ni’-aal Iraiser is what I be. A handmaiden to the fey of this mound. One of many.”
As the tiny winged person spoke, other orbs of light appeared behind her. Within seconds, the dark chamber was aglow with hundreds of bouncing orbs.
Tara blinked, uncertain if she heard correctly. The tiny winged creatures that everyone believed to be the fairy folk were actually servants of the fey race? “Where are they? My family, my mother and my brothers? When are they coming back?”
A male Ni-aal hovered beside Elosir, his tiny, masculine face grave. “The princess Arianna died, five years after the war began. Your mother feared you were lost forever to us and gave up hope. She gave up her light to the ancients in the hope that it would one day guide you home, Lady mine.”
Tears pricked Tara’s eyes, threatening to blur her vision. “No. She’s not dead!” She protested, knowing it was so. “And my brothers …?”
“Two fell in battle and never rose again; Kelfe and Ilsenfuir, may the stars reflect their lights from afar.” Gilamuir, Kerry and Riley remain, Lady mine.”
“Where? Tell me, where are they?” She shouted, desperate to learn the truth.
“They are hiding among the mortals, with the rest of our mound.” Elosir answered. “Your mound was outlawed long ago, many were hunted and destroyed by the Darkling Fey, so the survivors dispersed to make their way among the mortals. We remain here, guardians of the palace mound, until their return.”
Tara wanted to scream. She wanted to proclaim their words false and accuse them of vile things. She could not. She knew instinctively they spoke the truth. “No. No, it’s not fair. I’m here. I’ve come home …” Tara cried. She balled her fists, wanting to beat the stones and wail for her lovely mother and her brothers who fell in battle.
“Shhh. Quiet, Lady Tara. You will bring the Dark ones. They will hear you.” The male Niaal cautioned. As he spoke, the surrounding Niaal faded, dousing their illumination and plunging the palace chamber into gloom.
Only Elosir and the male Niaal remained glowing as they fluttered before Tara.
“You must go back, Lady mine.” Elosir whispered, a faint tinkling voice like wind chimes that were barely audible nearby. “You are safe in the Dillon stronghold. The Darkling Fey cannot penetrate the granite walls of Glengarra to find you. The walls are enchanted by powerful magic and Lord Dillon has been appointed your protector.
“So … it’s true?” All along, Adrian spoke the truth. She was sent to him so that he could protect her from the Dark Fey? “My brothers, Gilamuir, Riley and Kerry? How can I find them? I must find them … I want to come home … please, help me … help me. I came home …”
“Tara, sweetling, Tara, come back to me.” Adrian shook her. He knelt beside his wife in the stone circle, in the steady drizzle and tried to shake the spell that enchanted her. She was weeping noiselessly, clutching the mossy roots in the center of the circle as if she hoped to open a door hidden beneath the boggy roots. Her eyes were a queer shade of iridescent green as they gazed into a faraway place. She was between the worlds, in place out of time, caught in the magic of the sacred stones.
“No … please, I want to come home …” The tortured edge to her voice sliced through Adrian’s heart. “I’m here, I want to come home again, please, help me.”
Rupert, his valet, informed him when he returned from the village of Glengarriff that his lady had slipped out unnoticed, dressed as a lad. It took but a stern word to Maggie and the threat of dismissal to learn where Tara had gone. The Tironagh Stone Circle at the edge of Dillon lands, just before the mountains marking County Kerry. Adrian had raced to the stables and swung up onto his charger bare back, riding hard and fast in the hope of preventing Tara from leaving him by returning to her people.
“Tara!” Adrian shook her again. “Come back to me.” He tried to get her hands free of the tangled moss that held them there. With great effort, he pried her fingers from the tight bonds of the wet, boggy earth that seemed to have magically grown around them.
She crumpled, falling forward, her head bowed to the earth. “It’s too late … they’re gone … they’re gone. They’ve left me here … alone.”
“No, no, my dearest fairy bride.” Adrian pulled her up from her prostrate slump into the damp, boggy earth. He brushed the dirt and debris from her brow and her cheeks, relieved to see her eyes had returned to their natural green color again. “You aren’t alone. I’m here, my sweet lass. I’m here to take you home.”
She shivered and no wonder; the lass was soaked to the bone. She’d been crouched here, weeping and murmuring for over an hour, deep in a trance as she tried to connect with her family. He’d watched her fearfully for a few sparse moments before he dismounted and entered the magical circle. He watched, fearing she would suddenly disappear as the earth opened up to swallow her whole, reclaiming the woman he loved so desperately and leaving him to suffer her loss for the rest of his days.
“I can’t go home. I don’t have a home anymore. It’s gone. They’re all gone … Mother, Kelfe, Ilsenfuir. They’re dead, lost forever, and I can never go home.”
“Shhh, sweet Tara. Calm yourself. You have a home.” Adrian insisted, disturbed by her panicked rambling. Taking her sweet face between his bare palms, he repeated the words so she might find hope. “Your home is with me now. You belong with me. Come, let’s get you inside before you catch your death.”
Not waiting for her compliance, Adrian stood and lifted her in his arms. He set her on the horse and began leading it down the short incline to where the child sat. He paused, giving the lad a stern look of reproof before extending his hand. The boy ignored his hand and sheepishly bowed his head as if to admit fault. Adrian picked up the drenched child, carried him to the horse’s side and settled him behind Tara.
The mile and a half walk to the cottage didn’t take long. Adrian was furious. He marched across the grassy plain to the boy’s home near the foot of the mountain, determined to drop him in his mother’s arms and ride hard the two miles to the castle. Once he arrived at the O’Shea home, Mrs. O’Shea retrieved her soggy son with a scolding tongue and a tug to the lad’s ear to pull him inside the cottage. She emerged again in the drizzle to offer Adrian a hearty thank you and a deep curtsy as her acknowledged Lord.
Adrian swung up behind Tara and kicked the Bay’s sides, determined to get his drenched and dejected wife home. He hugged her against him from behind with one arm, while guiding the stallion with his knees as he tried to offer her words of comfort.
What could he say? She wanted to leave. She tried to go back, yet it seemed her home was closed to her. She was despondent. She sat staring down at her beautiful, pale, icy hands that were tangled in the horse’s mane, her face wet from the drizzle mingled with silent tears.
“You aren’t alone.” Adrian soothed, hugging her against him. “I’m here, Tara. Your home is with me, now.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
The ride to Cork was long and tedious. The roads were good, the warm spring air livened the countryside to a deep, emerald green sheen as clouds danced across the bright blue sky. The landscape was breathtaking in the early morning mists.
They stopped at an inn to change horses and refresh themselves at mid-day. A few more hours a
nd the outskirts of Cork could be seen in the distance.
They spent the night at the townhouse and set off again early the next day. They enjoyed a companionable morning, stopped at mid-day for lunch at the seaside village of Yougal and then continued in their journey along the southern coastline.
“Sweetheart, you are brooding.” Adrian whispered, leaning his face close so as not to awaken her father and destroy the fleeting moment of privacy between them. “What can I do to make you smile again?”
Brooding was an understatement. Grieving was more to the point. Since visiting the circle and through it the desolate, abandoned palace, Tara had never felt more lost and forlorn. After a lifetime in the future, believing she was completely alone, she found she had blood kin after all, only to learn some had fallen in battle and others fled and were in hiding because her clan had been outlawed by the other Fey clans
They hadn’t spoken of the incident, not since Adrian brought her home from the sacred stone circle. Neither she nor Adrian spoke of his finding her in the pathetic state; crouched in the rain, weeping and pleading to the sky as if in a trance, or of his impassioned promise that he was her family and she belonged with him. They may not have spoken of the incident, yet their lovemaking had taken on a deeper, more desperate tone as each sought to strengthen the bond of love through their physical joining.
Tara shivered at the sensual promise in Adrian’s voice as she gazed into his silver eyes. She recognized that look, felt the stirrings of desire within. His eyes locked with hers, quiet understanding passing between them as he bent slightly, capturing her lips with his own as her father snored on, oblivious to their mounting passion.
At last, it was Adrian who pulled away from their heated embrace. He crossed his legs and tugged his jacket over his lap to hide the mound of soaring desire from her parent opposite them. He sighed, leaned against the coach side, and gazed out the window with one finger propping up his chin. It would be a long wait until they reached the Inn tonight. Tara’s swollen lips tingled as she opened the volume before her and decided to finish the Legend of Finn MacCoul and the Fianna before delving into Deidre of the Sorrows, saving the romantic classic for the last bit of the journey.
