The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

by Trisha Telep

  There would be no war if Anya married Dubh and gave him all the wealth he lacked. His lands were rocky and not suited for farming. He fought viciously for every field of fertile ground he could claim. She understood how he thought and why. But his thinking was of the past. These days, they must fight the enemies that threatened from outside, not each other.

  “There is always war,” Anya agreed. “It is choosing the right war that matters.”

  If she married Dubh . . . She would have to kill him before he killed Patrick. She had been trained to defend herself, but she had never killed, for self-defence or any reason.

  Her gaze strayed to the big man apparently enjoying the feast. He was of Faerie but not one of them. He was much too solid, too real. Surely, if he could enter the Other World, he had gifts far stronger than her own. He had protected her with his life, as he would protect Patrick.

  She knew now what she must do, even though it broke her heart. She stood. Few noticed or cared. She quietly departed for the stairwell. Finn followed, as she’d known he would. Even though he’d been as lost in feasting and drinking as the others, he halted, for her. And for the infant.

  She left him at his post on the landing and entered her chamber where the maids entertained a wide-awake babe. A beautiful babe, one she would claim as her own, if she could. Smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world, she took the child king into her arms and cuddled him. He swung his little fist as if to touch and explore her. She already adored him with all her heart and soul, and tears filled her eyes as she carried him from the chamber, down the stairs.

  Without questioning, Finn followed in her footsteps, outside to the secluded garden where she’d told her brother he could not build because the Good Neighbours rode through this place. A hidden door allowed them to pass through the wall unhampered. Her brother had laughed and called it a Faery gate, but she had felt the appreciation of their unreal Neighbours and known that the passage had been the right thing to do. The Others had inhabited this land well before mortals.

  When they were alone in the moonlight, Anya turned and held the child out to Finn. It took all the strength in her to do so. “Take him where he will be safe, until he is full grown.”

  As usual, he did not do as told but studied her with wariness. “A babe needs a woman to care for him. I cannot.”

  “Salmon eat bait. If I am to be swallowed whole, then I cannot guarantee the child’s safety. I would rather die than lose him that way.” Tears sprang to her eyes, tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed since she’d known the mantle of responsibility would fall on her frail shoulders. “I thank you for offering me this chance to escape my fate, but I see now that I was being selfish.”

  “The child is mine,” he said resolutely. “I wish him to grow strong and true and take the place that is his birthright. He cannot do that from a place of weakness.”

  “Yours?” Surprised, she gazed into the babe’s wide dark eyes, seeking a resemblance, but the warrior was hard and stern and the babe had yet to develop such character. Patrick gurgled and sucked his fist. And she loved him. Weeping, she offered the babe again. “I cannot protect him from Dubh. He is ruthless and single-minded. You must see that. If anyone must be sacrificed, it is I, not the child.”

  At her words, Finn stared as if she had suddenly developed a halo and wings. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles and stared into her eyes. “Niamh?” he asked in a disbelieving whisper. “Have the Others brought me to you? I swear, no other would sacrifice herself for our son.”

  Memories settled on Anya like a soft mantle, warming her heart and thoughts as she turned them inwards. “No one has called me that since . . .” She tried to recall. “I had a nurse once, a nurse who took me to see our Good Neighbours riding. They called me Niamh.” She looked at him oddly. “You know me?”

  “From another time and place.” Finn stroked her face boldly, tenderly, testing the quality of her hair and skin but studying her eyes. “You do not look the same, but your heart . . . your heart is mine.”

  Anya did not understand his words so well as his expression. Heart thudding at her daring, she stepped forwards, stood on her toes, and tested a kiss against his chiselled lips. And to her amazement, they softened.

  “My bait, no others,” he whispered against her mouth, pulling her against his chest, with the child gently crushed between them. “You will wiggle only for me.”

  The intoxicating liquor of his kiss prevented her from laughing at his odd idea of courtship words. Before she fell too far under his magic spell, she pushed away. “How?” she asked, unable to form full phrases while her head spun, for it did seem they were meant for each other. She could feel it in that place that recognized what lay beyond this world.

  “They knew,” he said obliquely. “They knew I merely survived with them. That to live, I must make things better, and their world is too perfect for an imperfect mortal. They knew this world needs me more than theirs, and they brought me to you. Mortality is a price I willingly pay.”

  “You can stay?” she asked, holding her breath in fear, widening her eyes as she studied the rugged, broad-minded man who held her and looked upon her as if she were the answer to his prayers. How could any woman resist such a man?

  “I can,” he said with certainty. “Together, we will buy Dubh’s lands and put his tenants to work so that we all might grow wealthy together. So someday, Patrick may inherit peace.”

  “Yes,” she sighed happily, as the babe gurgled in delight. “Yes, and we will be good neighbours to everyone, even to those we cannot always see. Where have you been all my life?”

  With a roar of joy, Finn lifted her and the babe in his mighty arms and swung them around in the moonlight. “I’ve been here, with you, inside your heart all these years!”

  Beneath the spreading oak by the hidden gate, an invisible, elegant troop of riders nodded approval at the joyous couple – before turning their mounts and galloping into the mist rising from the sea.

  Shifter Made

  Jennifer Ashley

  One

  Baile Ícín (near Dingle), Ciarraí, Ireland – 1400

  “Smith.”

  Niall knew without looking up from his anvil that the woman who addressed him was Fae, or Sidhe as the villagers called them. He could smell her, a bright, sticky-sweet stench that humans found irresistible.

  He kept his head bent over his task – mending a cooking crane for a village woman was far more important than speaking to a Fae. Besides, his name wasn’t Smith, and if she couldn’t call him by his real name he saw no need to answer.

  “Shifter, I command you,” she said.

  Niall continued hammering. Wind poured through the open doors, carrying the scent of brine, fish and clean air, which still could not cover the stench of Fae.

  “Shifter.”

  “This forge is filled with iron, lass,” Niall cut her off. “And Shifters don’t obey Fae any more. Did you not hear that news 150 years ago?”

  “I have a spell that keeps my anathema of iron at bay. For a time. Long enough to deal with you.”

  Niall finally looked up, curiosity winning over animosity. A tall woman in flowing silk stood on his threshold, her body haloed by the setting sun. Her pale hair hung to her knees in a score of thin braids, and she had the dark eyes and slender, pointed ears common to her kind. She was beautiful in an ethereal way – but then all Fae were beautiful, the evil bastards.

  The wind boiling up from the sea cliffs cut through the doorway, and she shivered. Niall raised his brows; he’d never caught a Fae doing a thing so normal as shiver.

  He thrust the end of the crane into the fire, sending up sparks. “Come in out of the weather, girl. You’ll be freezing in those flimsy clothes.”

  “My name is Alanna, and I’m hardly a girl.”

  She had to be if she responded to Niall’s condescension, or at least naive. Fae lived so long and never changed much once they were fully grown that it was difficult to tell what age they
were. She could be twenty-five or four hundred and fifty.

  Alanna stepped all the way into the forge, darting nervous glances at the iron – the anvil, his tools, the piece of crane he was mending. “I’ve been sent to give you a commission.”

  “You were sent were you? Poor lass. You must have offended someone high up to be handed the thankless task of entering the mortal world to speak to a Shifter.”

  Her cheeks coloured but her tone remained haughty. “I’ve come to ask you to forge a sword. I believe you were once a sword maker of some repute.”

  “In days gone by. Now I’m a humble blacksmith, making practical things for villagers here and on the Great Island.”

  “Nonetheless, I am certain you retained your skill. The sword is to have a blade three feet in length, made of silver. The hilt is to be of bronze.”

  Niall drew the crane from the fire, set it on his anvil, and quickly hammered the glowing end into shape. “No,” he said.

  “What?”

  He enunciated each word. “No, I will not make such a damn fool weapon for you.”

  Alanna regarded him slack-jawed, a very un-Fae-like expression. Fae were cold beings, barely bringing themselves to speak civilly to non-Fae. Fae had once bred Shifters to hunt and fight for them, and they regarded Shifters as animals, one step below humans.

  This woman looked troubled, confused, even embarrassed. “You will do this.”

  “I will not.”

  “You must.”

  Was that panic now? Niall thrust the iron crane back into the fire and got to his feet. The Fae woman stepped back, and Niall fought an evil grin. Niall was big, even for a Shifter. His arms were strong from a lifetime of smithy work, and he’d always been tall. Alanna would come up to his chin if he stood next to her; her slender hands would get lost in his big ones. He could break her like a twig if he chose, and by the fear in her black eyes, she thought he’d choose to.

  “Listen to me, lass. Go back to wherever you came from, and tell them that Shifters take orders no more. We are no longer your slaves, or your hunters, or your pets. We are finished.” He turned back to pump the bellows, sweat trickling down his bare back. “Besides, silver won’t make a decent sword. The metal’s too soft.”

  “Spells have been woven through the metal to make it as strong as steel. You will work it the same as you would any other sword.”

  “I will, will I? Fae don’t use swords in any case – your weapon is the bow. Not to mention the copper knife for gouging out other beings’ hearts, usually while they’re still beating.”

  “That is only the priests, and only when we need to make a sacrifice.”

  “Sacrifice, you call it? Seems like it’s not much of a sacrifice for you but hard on the one who’s losing his heart.”

  “That’s really none of your affair. You need to make the sword for me. What we use it for doesn’t concern you.”

  “You are wrong about that.” Niall lifted the crane again, quickly hammered it into its final shape, and thrust it into his cooling barrel. Water and metal met with a hiss, and steam boiled into the air. “Anything I make has a little part of meself in it. I’m not putting that into a sacrificial weapon you’ll stick into helpless animals or humans or Shifters who never did any harm to you.”

  Her brow clouded. “A piece of yourself? Blood or a bit of skin . . .?”

  “Not literally, you ignorant woman. I don’t christen it with blood, like some Fae priest. I mean I put a bit of my soul in everything I craft. Gods know I wouldn’t want Fae touching anything that’s come close to my soul.”

  Her face flamed, and her look was now . . . ashamed? “Shifter, I have to take this sword back with me at first light.”

  Last light was now streaming through the door, the spring air turning even more frigid. “And where would I be getting time to craft such a thing before morning? Sword-working is a long business, and I have sons to look after. I’m not doing it, lass. Go on home and tell them you couldn’t bully the big, mean Shifter.”

  “Damn you.” Alanna clenched her fists, eyes sparkling. “Are all Shifters this bloody stubborn? I thought I could do this without hurting you.”

  Niall looked her up and down. Fae could work powerful magic, without doubt, but not much in the human world. They’d given up that power to retreat to the safety of their own realm, while Shifters had learned to adapt and remain in the world of humans. Fae still had magic out here – minor spells, glamour and misdirection, not that they didn’t use those to lure human beings to their deaths.

  “Could you hurt me, lass? In this forge full of iron? I lost my mate ten years ago. That hurt me more than anything in the world ever could. I doubt you could match that pain, no matter how many tiny spells you can throw at me.”

  “No?” Alanna asked, her voice ringing. “What about if you lost your cubs?”

  Niall was across the room and had her pinned against the wall before the echo of her words died, the iron bar he’d just cooled in the water pressed across her pale throat.

  Two

  The Shifter was stronger than she’d imagined, and the iron against Alanna’s skin burned. The spell that her brother had grudgingly let his chief magician chant over her kept the worst at bay, but the bar felt white hot.

  Odours of sweat, fire, smoke and metal poured off the Shifter called Niall. He’d scraped his black hair into a tight braid, the style emphasizing his high cheekbones and sharp nose, the touch of Fae ancestry that had never disappeared from Shifters. His hard jaw was studded with dark whiskers, wet with sweat from his labours. The whiskers and sweat made him seem so raw, so animal-like. Fae men were beardless, their skin paper-smooth, and she’d never seen one do anything so gauche as sweat.

  Studying the Shifter’s stubbled chin kept Alanna from having to look into his eyes. Those eyes had been deep green when she’d entered the forge; now they were nearly white, his pupils slitted like a cat’s. He was a cat, a predatory cat bred from several species of ancient wildcats, and any second now he’d tear her apart.

  And then his two sons would die.

  Niall’s towering rage held her as firmly as the iron bar. “You touch my cubs, bitch, and you’ll be learning what pain truly is.”

  “If you do as I say, they won’t be hurt at all.”

  “You’ll not go near them.”

  “It’s too late for that. They’ve already been taken. Make the sword, and you’ll get them back.”

  The Shifter roared. His face elongated, and animal lips pulled back from fangs. He didn’t shift all the way, but the hand that held the bar sprouted finger-long claws.

  At that moment Alanna hated all Shifters and all Fae, especially her brother Kieran, who’d told her that subduing the Shifter would be simple. They will do anything to protect their whelps. We’ll carry them off, and he’ll whimper at your feet.

  Niall O’Connell, master sword maker of the old Kingdom of Ciarraí, wasn’t whimpering or anywhere near her feet. His fury could tear down the forge and crumble the cliff face into the sea.

  “Make the sword.” Now Alanna was the one pleading. “Craft the sword, and the little ones go free.”

  Niall’s face shifted back into his human one, but his eyes remained white. “Where are they?”

  “They will be released when you complete the sword.”

  Niall shoved her into the wall. “Damn you, woman, where are they?”

  “In the realm of Faerie.”

  The Shifter’s pupils returned to human shape, his eye colour darkening to jade as grief filled them. Niall’s shoulders slumped, but though his look was one of defeat, the iron never moved from Alanna’s throat. “Gone, then,” he whispered.

  “No,” Alanna said quickly. “If you give me the sword, they will be set free. He assured me they would not be harmed.”

  “Who did? Who is this Fae bastard who’s taken my children?”

  “My brother. Kieran.”

  “Kieran . . .”

  “Prince Kieran of Donegal.�
�

  “There was a Kieran of Donegal in Shifter stories of long ago. A vicious bastard that a pack of Lupines finally hunted and killed. Only decent thing the bloody dogs have ever done.”

  “My brother is his grandson.”

  “Which makes you his granddaughter.” Niall peered at her. “You don’t seem all that pleased to be running this errand for your royal brother. Why did he send you?”

  “None of your affair.” Enemies saw your compassion as weakness and used that against you, Kieran had told her. Kieran certainly used every advantage over his enemies – and his friends as well.

  “Back to that, are you?” Niall asked. “What assurance do I have that you’ll not simply kill my boys whether I make the sword for you or not?”

  Alanna shifted the tiniest bit, trying to ease the pain of the bar on her throat. “You have my pledge.”

  He snorted. “And what worth is that to me?”

  “My pledge that if your children are harmed, you may take my life. I wasn’t just sent as the messenger, Shifter. I was sent to be your hostage.”

  Even through his pain, his grief, and his gut-wrenching fear, Niall couldn’t deny that the Fae woman had courage. He could kill her right now, and she knew it. She offered her life in exchange for his sons with a steady voice, though she obviously knew that a Shifter whose cubs were threatened was more dangerous than an erupting volcano. And even though she’d said she’d been given a protective spell against iron, Niall knew the cold bar hurt her.

  Slowly he lifted it from her throat. Alanna rubbed her neck as though it pained her, but the bar had left no mark.

  Niall stopped himself having any sympathy. She and her brother had taken his boys, Marcus and Piers, who were ten and twelve as humans counted years.

  He looked past her to the darkening night, to the mists gathering on the cliff path, to the Great Island silhouetted by the blood-red sky. “My youngest, Marcus, he likes to fish,” he said. “The human way with a pole and hook. Will he be able to fish where he is?”