The Wolf and the Druidess
Samhain Tryst
By
Cornelia Amiri
Eternal Press
A division of Damnation Books, LLC.
P.O. Box 3931
Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998
www.eternalpress.biz
The Wolf and the Druidess: Samhain Tryst
by Cornelia Amiri
Digital ISBN: 978-1-61572-246-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-247-1
Cover art by: Amanda Kelsey
Edited by: Pam Slade
Copyedited by: Carrie Richardson-Orosz
Copyright 2010 Cornelia Amiri
Printed in the United States of America
Worldwide Electronic & Digital Rights
1st North American and UK Print Rights
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book and its success would not be possible without the wonderful Eternal Press family and the effort and time the Eternal Press staff contributed, from publishing, editing, cover art, and marketing, as well as the support and encouragement of all the kind and talented authors. Each and every one of you are essential and I appreciate each of you so much.
A special thanks to Candace Clayton, Senior Acquisitions Editor, for Eternal Press, if she hadn’t accepted the submission people wouldn’t be reading and enjoying it right now. I also want to show my appreciation to the editor of The Wolf and The Druidess, Pam Slade, for her time, energy, and brilliance, which were essential in getting this story published. Also, a big thanks to the woman behind Eternal Press, Kim Richards, our incredibly dedicated CEO.
As for my family, I want to thank Kavon for his unending moral support in this and all my writing. I have to thank my cat Severus, who showed his love and support in his own feline way, by lying on my desk and sleeping while I typed away.
I also wanted to thank everyone who reads The Wolf and The Druidess, it’s you fabulous readers who make all this hard work worthwhile.
Chapter One
Gwydion’s eyes devoured the golden apple dangling from the leafy tree as he commented aloud. “Like Seren’s hair, dazzling in the sunlight.” The image of her long, red-amber mane burned in his mind. He plucked the apple and tossed it in his hand while heading toward the salmon pond, yearning to steal another glimpse of her.
He plopped down on a moss-covered boulder along the verdant bank, as a silver salmon jumped into the air. Gwydion jerked away from the huge splash as the wise fish landed back in the water. A spicy apple scent danced in the air as he dug his teeth into the nectarous fruit. He ran his tongue across the juice that dribbled onto his lower lip. Sunlight shimmered on the clear surface as he peered into the pond. “I beckon, lucid pool, reveal the lady I desire. Vision of beauty, appear before my eyes.”
The rippling water stilled and Seren’s image broke through. Rounded over even teeth, her full curved lips captured his gaze and he craved a sip of the moist sweetness of her mouth. Longing to press his lips to hers, he imagined they would taste as sweet as the juicy apple which filled his mouth. As he devoured the ripe fruit, his gaze clung to the curves of her body. He envisioned her unclad, bare, round breasts, a seductive belly button in the center of her taut waist, and a patch of tiny red curls between her creamy thighs. His heart raced as his erection stirred, grew hard, stretched tight.
Then, he peered at her shimmering eyes as her lashes swept across the rose-flushed cheekbones on her oval face. His gaze shifted to her white gold-speckled robe as she reached up with both hands and pulled the hood over her head. Walking with the chief of the Ordovices among the herd of pigs, she pointed out those to slaughter. As she spread her arms, draped by the flowing sleeves of her druid robe, he could tell she was reciting a sacred chant.
While Gwydion watched, he heard the footfalls of someone approaching and he turned away from the pond toward the woman now standing above him. Tall, with a luminous complexion, and thick black hair draping her shoulders to her hips, like a mantle. She parted her full lips, stained with lush elderberry juice.
“Happy Samhain, Gwydion.” She had a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Do you plan a tryst with anyone special this feast day?”
“Happy New Year to you as well, Arianrhod, and no, I am going to earth to drink and dance with the mortals for some harmless fun.”
Strolling to the edge of the pool, she glanced at Seren’s reflection. “She’s pretty.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Gwydion didn’t care what Arianrhod thought. It was not her business who he saw or where he went. They were both gods, equal in power. He didn’t care who she spent Samhain with.
“A druidess surrounded by swine.” Arianrhod peered into the pond. “She’s performing a slaughter ritual.” The goddess pressed her finger against her cheekbone. “Do you know she is summoning, you and your brother’s pig?”
“Hydchdwy is no longer a hog. Math transformed him to human form. He’s a great champion at the god’s fortress.” Gwydion tossed the apple core to the ground. “Only you, Arianrhod, would remind me of that horrid year I lived under Math’s curse.”
“Well, what is family for?” she quipped, and then glared daggers into the pool at Seren’s image. “Still, she seems beneath you.”
“Does she?” Gwydion let out a soft chuckle. “I’d like to have her stretched out beneath me, on my pallet,” he said under his breath.
Arianrhod whipped her long black hair across her back and glided, toward the huge fortress with golden doors, four turrets and six thousand warriors guarding the walls. Gwydion shifted his gaze back to the pond and Seren.
* * * *
The big man clad in a plaid cloak, draped over a green tunic and checkered pants, tugged on the belt at his waist, and then he tilted his neck, banded by a gleaming gold torque, to the druidess at his side. “We will keep the two breeding sows and do our best to get them through winter, which will soon be upon us.”
Seren nodded to Neithon, chief of the Ordovices, and then circled the herd of grunting pigs with their dark-pink ears and musky, rose-colored snouts. She chanted, “I invoke one of three, a triad son, sprung from Gilfaethwy the wicked. Hydchdwy the tall, noble swine, great champion of Math, grant the life of these beasts to me and mine for winter meat to feed our tribe. Blessed pigs, we give thanks for your sacrifice.” Seren bowed to the squealing herd and left Chief Neithon and the nine warriors of Samhain to their work, while she checked on other aspects of the festival.
* * * *
Seren strolled through the bustling village to the round feasting hall. She nodded to a woman with long brown hair, garbed in a bright plaid tunic over a solid red skirt.
“Greetings, Nyfain.” After flashing a smile at the chief’s wife, she grabbed a rosy apple from a wicker basket full of fruit and dug her teeth into it. “So sweet.” She reached into a basket full of oblong, yellowish, purple-capped turnips and pulled one out to examine it closer. “Plump.” Seren continued inspecting the food for the feast. “Bless the goddess, this is the best harvest.”
Nyfain swept her gaze over the baskets of nuts, fruits and vegetables and nodded. “The land was good to us.”
Seren found all the food so ripe and tempting, she had to leave before s
he began to feast, now, rather than wait for tonight.
She walked with a spring in her step for Samhain had always been her favorite fire festival. Coming to a sudden stop, she pressed her hand against her forehead, her mind spun with memories, of all the good times she’d had at the feasts with her mother. At their last Samhain together, her mother’s face had beamed as she’d led the tribe in a dance around the roaring bonfire.
But seeing her mother again tonight, to feast together and celebrate this day without time, remained the best thing about this Samhain. Seren lifted her chin, excited for this eve, when the spirits of the dead walked the earth.
As she strolled back through the village toward the hill, Seren glanced at the wood frames hung with pigs’ hides to cure and dry. The nine maidens of Samhain worked hard, salting the meat and storing it away to see the tribe through the dark of winter.
Seren made her way up the hill and waited at the top for the warriors of Samhain, who each carried a bundle of one of the nine sacred woods.
Gwdderig, a lean, towering man with a red moustache and long hair, came forward. “Hail, willow of the streams.”
Seren took the willow logs and laid them on the ground as the first wood for the bonfire.
The warrior, Cynfarch came forward, cradling a pile of firewood against his blue, green, and red plaid tunic. His hair was nearly white, bleached from lime-wash and as thick and bristly as a badger’s pelt.
Seren greeted the logs. “Welcome, hazel of the rocks.” She took the bundle of wood from him and piled it on top of the rest.
Seren welcomed the other men and the logs they carried in turn, saying, “Welcome alder of the marshes, birch of the waterfalls, greetings rowan of the shade, yew of fortitude, elm of the hill, oak of the sun and sweet fir.” Then, she added each pile of wood to the fire.
After the nine warriors had made many a trek up the hill, a bonfire towered before Seren. Chief Neithon handed her a firebrand to light it. The bard of the tribe came forward with harp in hand and strummed a lilting tune as the fire roared in a bright blaze.
Seren raised her hands high, twirling and chanting. “Fire sparks, veil parts, ancestors come near, feast, dance, sing with us here. Great powers abound. Circle comes round. All hail Samhain.”
The roar of the blaze, the cheering crowd, and the magic of Samhain rushed through her like an inferno. Seren slipped off her white gold-speckled robe, which had been woven by her mother and was the last gift from her before she died. Seren longed to see her once more. She tossed the garment to one of the women to hold for her.
One of the nine maidens, Elund, beat the goatskin drum in a savage rhythm. Seren’s skin felt as hot as the fire as she moved in a swaying motion. Needing to bare her body for the gods, she danced to, she untied her hemp belt and her plaid skirt dropped to the dirt. She yanked her red tunic off and threw it down. The haunting twitter of the pipes and the ethereal tone of the harp joined the bodhran in the jubilant song of Samhain.
The nine warriors peeled off their clothes, leaving them nude, except for the swirls of blue woad tattoos embellishing their toned bodies and the gold torques, banding their necks. The men’s bare bodies, rippling with muscles, shook as they danced around the hot fire, chanting, “Willow of the streams, hazel of the rocks, alder of the marshes, birch of the waterfalls, greetings rowan of the shade, yew of fortitude, elm of the hill, oak of the sun and sweet fir.”
“Bright blessings upon you nine sacred trees for your sacrifice.” Seren sang with the warriors as she watched their long, lime-stone-bleached hair sway as they danced.
After admiring their chiseled chests, her gaze drifted to the bulging arousal bobbing between their sturdy, trunk-like legs. Seren ogled Gwydderig’s thick, hard shaft. Her eyes darted to the bounty hung between Cynfarch’s muscular thighs, impressive by both girth and length. A surge of heat shot through her as she peered at Hywell’s rigid, veined cock. Seren’s most sensitive spot blazed with need as her skin grew hot from the raging bonfire. The wet warmth she felt between her legs confirmed all the warriors impressed her.
The pounding drumbeat pushed her feet higher and faster as she sang. “The gods have spoken, the oak doors open. Dance, the fire sparks. Sing, the veil parts. Bones, ashes, dust transform. Spirits among us, come near, feast with us here.” Seren tingled with energy. “The circle comes round, blessings abound.”
The music stopped and Seren’s feet stilled. As she slipped her tunic, skirt and druid robe back on, she stole glimpses of the nine warriors’ bodies before they dressed.
After dancing nude with the muscled men, her senses were heightened. Since she knew Cynfarch lusted after her, she longed to pull him aside and ride him in a night of pleasure, satisfying her throbbing need. But she couldn’t think of her own desires. Seren never did. She was a druidess, duty came first.
Mustering her strength, she fought her yearnings. Samhain was for family. Ever since her mother had drifted into the deep sleep of death, Seren had anxiously awaited this eve. She headed down the winding path from the hill to the village and into the round, hay-thatched feasting hall.
“Are you enjoying Samhain?” she asked one of the nine maidens.
“Yes, Druidess. It is the best new year celebration ever.” The young woman’s freckled face beamed.
“It is, isn’t it?” Seren sighed as she envisioned sitting with the ghost of her mother and sharing the feast. “Will you gather treats for me, I am off to visit my mam’s cairn for Samhain?“
Her throat tightened. Seren’s father had died in battle with the Silures, when she was young, leaving her mother to care for her. Today, ten months after her mother’s death, she would sup with, talk to, and spend time with her again.
“We have oat cakes, druidess and fresh, juicy apples.” A maiden with long nut-brown hair handed her a wicker basket.
Seren peeked inside at the shiny red apples, crispy oat cakes, plump black pudding links, fat turnips, wild carrots, and handfuls of roasted hazelnuts.
“Druidess, tell me, do you have someone special to couple with around the bonfire this night?”
“No, I need to bring this fare to my mother.” Seren shrugged. She would like to share this night with a handsome man, but as the druidess her days were full with serving the tribe. With little time to kindle a romance, she longed for love, but mayhap it was not meant to be. “What of you?”
“Yes, I will spend the eve with Hywell. He and I shall hand-fast soon.”
“Blessings upon you. He is a good man, a brave warrior.” Seren pulled the white hood of her druid robe over her head. “I need to hasten to my mother’s cairn. Happy Samhain to you.”
“And you, Druidess, as well.” The young woman’s mouth curled up into a bright smile. “Here, for your trek into the dark woods.”
Seren took the lit torch from the freckle-faced maiden. With the basket looped through her arm and a firebrand in hand, she set out for the forest.
Chapter Two
Once she reached the edge of the wild woods, Seren breathed in the musky wildlife scent, mingled with the fresh, invigorating fragrance of evergreen firs. She concentrated on the stillness of the forest, peaceful sounds, chirping crickets and the whistling warble of a black bird composed a mellow yet catching tune. Seren loved the woods as much as her mother had. It was why she’d buried her in the lush denseness of trunks, leaves, and thick bushes. Piled the rocks and built the cairn over her mother’s dead body, next to a majestic oak, tall as a hill and wide enough for a human to hide in. The wise tree had memories that would shake the human mind. The gnarled oak, the heart of the forest, watched over the corpse, long after the woman’s spirit had sailed away on Arianrhod’s ship, Oar Wheel, across the sky to Caer Sidi to rest until she was ready to be reborn.
Seren followed the ancient trail through the thick growth of trees. Thin, leafless limbs stretched over her head. She gaped as one branch seemed to transform into a long, bony arm with lengthy fingers, reaching out to grab her in its clutches. He
r heart pounded. As she lifted the torch, shining light on the branch, it appeared as normal-looking as all the other trees.
Dried brown leaves and brittle twigs crunched beneath her feet as she trudged on. The apex between her thighs felt empty and on fire, from gaping at the men’s bare bodies. She craved to be held in the sturdy arms of a warrior as he slid his hard, sinewy length into her pulsating core. The cool breeze soothed her flushed skin. It lifted a few strands of her hair, reminding her of Cynfarch’s long, warm fingers playing with her red tresses. She throbbed again.
Glancing at the basket, she breathed in the strong, meaty scent of blood pudding links, sweet honey, and fresh apples. The aroma turned her thoughts back to her mother. Her lust slacked as she ached anew for the only parent she’d known, as her father had died shortly after her birth. Soft warmth filled her at the thought of seeing her mother’s ghost tonight.
Tears threatened to fall, engulfed by the memory of her mother. The moon had waxed and waned only ten times since she’d fallen ill in winter and death had taken her.
Seren glanced at the white, gleaming orb overhead as she entered a small clearing, but the movements of the wind or small creatures in the dark, caused it to appear as if other people or creatures loomed in the shadows, hiding, watching.
Shaking from the chill wind, she swallowed hard and spoke aloud. “I come to visit my mother. If you are spirits, follow the path to the village and meet with your kith and kin. I have not come for you. Hasten to the homes of your loved ones and leave me alone.”
If they were ghosts, they would listen. She hoped. Seren didn’t have time for a spirit to take over her body on Samhain. After waiting ten turns of the moon to visit with her mother, she wouldn’t let anyone or anything stop her. The pain of her mother’s death reminded her of a minor parting when she was twelve and went to the druid center of learning for fostering, just across the Menai River to the island of Ynys Mon. She‘d been horribly homesick away from her mother at that age.
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