by Ann Gimpel
“We have shared blood,” Rhiannon intoned.
“Aye,” Arawn said. “We have shared blood.”
“We have shared blood. Now, ’tis your turn.” Gwydion fastened his sky-blue eyes on Stewart, who nodded.
“Repeat after me.” Stewart turned to face her, and the owls returned to Rhiannon, their part apparently complete. He gripped both her hands in his, and his dark gaze seared her to her bones.
“Ye are blood of my blood and bone of my bone.” His voice was so deep and rich, chills ran through Yara as she repeated his words.
He gripped her hands harder. “I give you my body that we may be one. I give you my spirit till our life shall be done. Ye are blood of my blood and bone of my bone.”
Tears prickled as she repeated the ancient binding. It ran deeper than the mere words, and her sprit took flight. Stewart let go of her hands and tossed her veil back over her head. Bending, he closed his mouth over hers amid a bevy of cheers.
Yara wrapped her arms around him, never wanting to let go. Never wanting the kiss to end. The ceremony had been driven by magic, and it held her in thrall.
Something sharp pecked her, then something else. She dragged her mouth from Stewart’s to find not just the owls, but Meara in vulture form. She cawed merrily. “You’ll have your lifetimes for the bedroom. Come dance the night away, drink your fill, and throw cake for the birds to share.”
“What?” Yara didn’t bother with telepathy. “Cake throwing, eh? Another ancient custom?”
The vulture didn’t answer, just flew down the hall and out the door.
Happiness sluiced through Yara until she felt she’d burst from a surfeit of emotion. “What happens next?” she asked Stewart.
“We move to the grand hall across the corridor, so everyone can wish us well and toast us and share our wedding feast.”
Yara walked tall by his side as they crossed the large room. She’d assumed this was the grand hall, but perhaps one even larger was waiting for them next door. The owls were gone, but so were the Celts. “Where’d Rhiannon and the other two go?”
Stewart shrugged. “My guess is they’re putting the finishing touches on the food and drink.” He leaned close enough to whisper into her ear. “In all the long years I’ve known them, they’ve never, never gone out of their way to do aught for anyone not one of them. Today is verra special, lassie. This may well be the last deed any of them do here, and they did it for us.”
Fae and Dark Fae surrounded them, chattering merrily in Gaelic. The group pushed through the arched doorway into the hall, and a flash of powerful shifter magic hurtled toward them. Yara glanced up expecting Meara, but Nivkh barreled their way. Garbed in leather, his burly form was welcome indeed. Yara had asked Meara if she knew what happened to him. She’d said no, but that had been a few days ago.
Apparently, things had changed.
The faerie folk parted to let him through amid cries of bear and first shifter. Many bowed to him. Power poured through the hall, redolent of the sharp tang of icy tundra, and he wrapped his powerful arms around Yara and Stewart. “I may have missed the wedding, but I shall drink to your good health, a long life, and many cubs.”
Meara flew to them, shifting midair.
Nivkh nodded at her. “Thank you for finding me in time. I’d finally crossed the North Sea, but I had no idea which part of the British Isles to search first.”
Rhiannon and Gwydion crowded into the broad hall, along with her owls. “Come within,” she urged. “Food awaits. Drink too.”
The Fae and Dark Fae surged around everyone, hustling through an open door that glistened with silver motes of power.
Rhiannon gazed fondly after them. “We should hurry or they’ll eat the tables down to the wood.”
Nivkh let go of Yara and Stewart and bowed low before Rhiannon. “Nice to see you again, my lady.”
“And you.” She inclined her head. “How did ye come to be here for my daughter’s wedding?”
“I invited him,” Meara said. “He became separated from us before we crossed the North Sea.” She shifted her eerie gaze so it rested on him. “You have excellent news. Be sure to share it before we get immersed in toasting the newlyweds.”
Yara’s ears perked up, and she cast an appraising glance at the bear shifter. “Stewart wanted Meara to go after you, but she said you could take care of yourself.”
Nivkh snorted, sounding suspiciously like the bear he was, and elbowed Meara. “Vote of confidence, eh?”
“Something like that.” She hooked an arm through his. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
“Bears are always hungry.” Nivkh chortled and strode after the Fae.
Rhiannon trotted after the shifters. Her owls flew behind Yara and Stewart, wings brushing their faces. “Aye, we’re on the move,” Stewart informed the birds. It seemed to satisfy them because they flew after their mistress.
Luscious smells wafted through the door. Yara still held tight to Stewart’s hand. “Husband.”
“Aye, that would be me.” He led them into a room even grander than the one where they’d been wed. Tales of Celtic glory were depicted in wall hangings and thick rugs running the length of the hall.
Someone thrust glasses of mead into their hands. She took a sip and said, “Husband, I like the sound of it.”
“And I love the way it sounds rolling off your tongue.” He clinked glasses with her. “To us, my love, my heart, my darling.”
They hooked their arms together and drank from each other’s glasses in a Rom-style toast.
Nivkh and Meara mounted a raised dais at one end of the room, and Meara clapped her hands smartly together. The sound wasn’t loud, but everyone turned to face her, and conversations quieted.
“I’ll be quick about this,” Nivkh said. “After all, we have a wedding to celebrate, yet there’s still more cause to rejoice. I couldn’t find a simple way out of the Netherlands and ended up sneaking back into Germany in bear form. I stopped by the caravans Stewart and Michael left outside Munich and am pleased to report all is well with them.
“Even better, though, the vampires have cleared out. They apparently decided helping Hitler held far too high a price tag. They were angry at how he manipulated them, and they transferred that ire to the Reich. Before they left, they mowed through every camp in Germany killing SS and anyone associated with Hitler. The demons have decamped as well. I have no idea if they’ve retreated to Hell where they belong, but demon taint faded and died away until I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
Cheers broke out, building to an enthusiastic cacophony of applause, hoots, and hollers. Music burst from the bagpipes. A rousing victory song that swept fears away. Cadr and Vreis were elated by the news, and it shone through their piping.
“There’s more than one tale to be told here. It appears you fought and fought well. I suspect you’re the reason vampires and demons decided retreat was in their best interest.” Nivkh cupped his hands around his mouth to make himself heard. “Someday, I’d like to hear what happened.”
Meara bent close to him, probably assuring him she’d tell him everything.
Stewart wrapped an arm around Yara. “Och aye, lassie, and that’s a fair bit of excellent news. Means we can return to the caravan that calls me leader—if such would please you.”
A smile started in her heart before spreading to her mouth. To be part of a caravan again would be the best thing ever. “I’d love it. Doesn’t matter if I don’t have a shred of gypsy blood. Caravans are my home, and I’ve missed them.”
“Och and we’ll make a fine pair. Me with my Druid magic, and ye with your Celt heritage. Seems fitting, somehow. My people will welcome us, regardless.”
“Can Ilse and Ian join us?”
“Of course. If they want to.” He took a measured breath. “We’ll have to remain in hiding until after the war ends, but I’m confident ’twill end someday. Not having vampires to fuel his hideous agenda will cripple Hitler and ensure that
good triumphs in the end.”
“When will we leave Scotland?” Yara knew they’d have to, but something about the magic-saturated land captivated her.
Stewart shrugged. “No one says we canna bide a wee bit afore we depart. I’d like to pass through Glasgow on our way south. I left my own collection of magical books in a moldering castle. If aught is left of them, we can bring them along.”
“I bet they’re still there. If they’re anything like the book Mother gave me, they’re indestructible.”
He bent close and kissed her cheek. “I hope ye’re right.”
A plump little fae with hair the green of a summer bower waddled over and handed her an overstuffed plate. Another with pink curls did the same for Stewart. “Hold up,” the first Fae said. “Chairs are on their way.”
A pair of Dark Fae dragged overstuffed chairs close by, and Yara dropped into one taking care to keep her full plate balanced.
“Can I get my lady anything else?” the green-haired Fae asked.
He was so earnest and so utterly magical, she grinned. “No thank you. This is perfect.”
“We’ll bring cake just as soon as you’re done.” The pink-curled girl giggled, curtsied, and fled.
Yara leaned against the seat’s padded back and popped sweetmeats and other morsels into her mouth. Stewart sat by her side, his gaze never leaving her.
She set her fork down. “Why aren’t you eating?”
He shrugged. “I’m enjoying watching you. I still canna quite believe ye agreed to marry me. ’Tis like a dream, but one I never wish to waken from.”
Yara laid her plate on the floor and did the same with his. Once his lap was empty, she sat in it and closed her arms around him. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
He hugged her back and brushed his lips over hers. “Aye, darling lassie, but I’ll never tire of hearing it.” His tone turned formal. “Thank you for the honor of joining your life to mine.”
She snuggled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. “Thank you for wanting me. It’s an honor on my side as well.”
Rhiannon walked to where they sat. “’Tis good to see you happy. Makes up for all those years ye were miserable and there was naught I could do but hope ye’d find answers in the book.”
Yara disentangled herself from Stewart and stood to face her mother. “What happened to the book? I looked and looked for it in the cave.”
“Ye doona need it any longer. ’Twas a magical construct, but ye already guessed that.” She held out her arms. “We shall take our leave. I’m grateful to have gotten to spend even this wee bit of time with you.”
Yara hugged her mother. “I’m grateful for it as well. Will I ever see you again?”
“Nay, daughter. The lot of us are leaving Earth forever. Our time here is done. In truth, ’tis been done for the last hundred years, but I had one last task—and now that it’s been dispatched, I have no more justification to remain.”
Stewart stood too. “Will Arianrhod bide in Caer Sidi?”
Rhiannon nodded. “She will, for who would ride herd on the moon and tides if not for her?” She let go of Yara and squared her shoulders. “When the bairns come, show my grandchildren to the moon. Arianrhod will let me know.”
Yara’s throat constricted with emotion. “I wish we’d had more time.”
“Be grateful we had any.” Rhiannon whistled once sharply. The owls whisked onto her shoulders, and a shining white steed formed in the air. Rhiannon vaulted astride it, and it turned, galloping until it vanished.
Yara remembered those hoofbeats. She’d heard them that night in the church. Tears formed, leaking from her eyes, and she brushed them away. “I shouldn’t be sad. Not today of all days.”
Stewart pulled her close. “Ye love fiercely, lassie. Doona wish it away.”
She melted into his embrace. She’d gone from having nothing but herself to knowing who she was and having a stalwart man by her side. Yara let go of Stewart and said, “Let’s greet our guests and thank them for sharing today with us.”
“Did ye have enough to eat?”
“We can eat anytime. Come on.”
Together, hand in hand, they walked toward the group of Fae closest to them.
You’ve reached the end of the Soul Dance books. If you enjoyed them, you might also like my Dragon Lore quartet. A sample from Highland Secrets, the first book of that series, follows.
The four books in Dragon Lore are:
Highland Secrets
To Love a Highland Dragon
Dragon Maid
Dragon’s Dare
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines, magazines, and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance to science fiction. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 45 books to date, with several more planned for 2017 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.
Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
If you enjoyed what you read, get in line for special offers and pre-release special reads. Newsletter Signup!
Book Description, Highland Secrets
Furious and weary, Angus Shea wants out, but no matter how he feels, he can’t stop the magic powering his visions. The Celts kidnapped him when he wasn’t much more than a boy and forced him to do their bidding. He’s sick of them and their endless assignments, but they wiped his memories, and he has no idea where he came from.
Dragon shifters are disappearing from the Scottish Highlands, and the Celtic Council sends Angus to investigate. He meets up with Arianrhod, legendary virgin huntress from Celtic myth, in Fire Mountain, the dragons’ home world.
Arianrhod prefers to work alone, mostly because she harbors a dirty little secret and guards her privacy for the best of reasons. She’s not exactly a virgin, and she’d be laughed out of the Pantheon if the truth surfaced. Despite the complications of leading a double life, she’s never found a lover who tempted her to walk away from her fellow Celtic gods.
Attraction ignites, hot and so urgent Arianrhod’s carefully balanced life teeters on the brink of discovery. Angus is everything she’s ever wanted, but he’s far too close to her Celtic kin to keep her secret safe. Angus wants her too, but she’s a Celt. He’s hated them forever, and she’s part of everything he’s lain awake nights plotting to escape from.
Can they risk everything?
Will they?
If they do, can they live with the consequences?
Highland Secrets
Dragon Lore, Book One
Angus Shea stroked beneath icy waters off the northern tip of Ireland, blending his energy with a pod of Selkies. The sea creatures cut through choppy waves in front, behind, and above him. He’d rather dive and play in the deeps with them—and if it were any other day, he would have—but he needed to keep an eye on the skies, so he edged toward the surface, pushing his head free.
Celene, a coal black Selkie he’d done more than swim with, drew close enough her lush pelt stroked his skin. He draped an arm around her, and she nuzzled his neck with her snout.
“Where have you been?” She spoke deep into his mind. Accommodating vocal chords were part of her human form, not her seal, and he’d never learned the Selkies’ lyrical language.
“I spent a little time at my home in Scotland, but mostly I’ve ranged far from the Irish Sea.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.” She nipped playfully at his shoulder with her squared-off teeth.
“Prying ears are everywhere.” He leaned into her warmth, enjoying a respite from the cold water.
“We could go
where no one would hear.”
He was tempted, so tempted he toyed with saying yes and taking a break from watching for the dragon he expected. Dragons interpreted time in their own way, and the damned thing might not show up today or tomorrow or even this week. If it showed at all.
How much could he tell the Selkie?
An answer crowded on the heels of his question.
Nothing.
Angus shuttered his mind, so the creature swimming by his side couldn’t read it. Much as he yearned to talk with someone, anyone, about the impossibilities the gods tasked him with, prudence won out. Not that this assignment was worse than any of the others, but he’d finally figured out they’d never end.
I could say no. Tell them I’m done.
He cut off the bitter laugh that wanted out. Whoever had the balls to refuse the Celts risked swift and certain punishment. He could hear Gwydion, master enchanter, or Ceridwen, goddess of the world, laughing their heads off—before they cut out his tongue or killed him on the spot.
“You don’t have to say a word.” Celene went on, almost as if she’d peeked into his thoughts before he took care to protect them. Selkie laughter buffeted him, spraying him with a warm, rich melody mixed with salty water. “I’m curious, but I miss your body.”
He missed hers too. She’d been his only break from solitude for more years than he wanted to admit. He cast another glance skyward. Though he tried to be subtle, he heard a smug murmur near his ear and knew he hadn’t fooled the Selkie.
“You wait for an Ancient One.” The tenor of her mind speech shifted as she shielded it from anyone who might be close. Without stopping for him to corroborate, she forged ahead. “We can take up the banner and watch for you. My kin will let us know.”
Angus picked his way carefully, as if he walked through a field of unexploded ordnance. “I appreciate the thought, but no one can know of my comings or goings, lass.”
“We know more than you think.” Celene batted him with a flipper. “In truth, very little escapes us, but here isn’t the place to share what I heard about your latest mission.”
