Faerie Fate

by Silver James

  “Not a thing, Ciaran. ’Tis just an old tale, but I suspect you might be the rare man who will recognize the truth in the telling of it.”

  She’d called him by his first name, rather than his title. He started to smile until he saw her forehead wrinkle as she stared at the girl in his arms. That’s when he noticed the beads of sweat dotting Becca’s forehead. Siobhan glided toward the bed carrying two cups.

  “Drink, Ciaran, then help me dose Becca. I fear sleep is the only respite I can give the two of you for now.”

  He took the cup and sniffed it suspiciously. Putting the rim to his mouth, he tossed down the contents in one swallow. He handed the cup back to Siobhan. In one smooth movement, he sat up, bringing Becca with him. He cradled her limp body to his chest with one hand tenderly cupping her cheek and turned her face toward the other woman.

  She slowly poured her potion down the girl’s throat, making sure she swallowed. Then Siobhan turned her back to prevent him from seeing the smile curling her lips. Her reflection in the shield hanging on the wall gave her away.

  Relieved, he laid back down, still cradling Becca. He settled her against his side. Her eyelids barely flickered during the process, then she sighed and snuggled closer. Ciaran closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her body molded to his.

  He’d had a huge, empty hole in his life, but had never been able to discern what was missing. Now he knew. He’d longed for this feeling his whole life, but could never define what he sought. This woman puzzled him. He knew only her first name, knew nothing of her sept or clann, nor nothing of her, yet she had come to mean the world to him.

  He was afraid—afraid for the first time in his life. He was afraid of needing her so much. He was afraid of losing himself in her. He was afraid of losing her. That was his last thought as Siobhan’s draught sent him to sleep.

  ****

  Niall could not make the return trip to the castle nearly as quickly as he’d ridden out. In his haste to get Odhran, he hadn’t even considered taking a second horse for the old Druid to ride back. As it turned out, his forgetfulness was probably for the best. The way the old man clutched at his belt, Niall suspected he probably could not have sat a horse by himself. As time passed, Niall opened up and confided in the Druid, telling him of Ciaran’s dreams and the screaming banshee who turned out to be Becca. He spoke of how they’d found her and Ciaran’s possessive protectiveness from the very moment he’d laid eyes on her. He told Odhran about Becca’s pain and its affect on Ciaran. And he revealed his own worries for the health and safety of his clann chief. Times were too unsettled, too dangerous to lose Ciaran. The clann needed him. The king needed him.

  When they arrived at the castle, Niall helped Odhran to the ground, and then dismounted himself. He led the Druid inside and up to Ciaran’s chamber. Siobhan met them at the door. With fingers to her lips, she ushered them in. Becca’s head rested on Ciaran’s shoulder and his strong arms enfolded her, as if to keep her close and safe. Both breathed deeply.

  Odhran stared at the sleeping couple and felt his heart stutter. What Siobhan had sensed, he knew absolutely. This truly could be a mating granted by the gods, if the couple could only work through the obstacles placed before them.

  Ciaran instinctively mistrusted his feelings for this woman. That she could bring out such strong emotions and feelings—protectiveness, lust, rage, fear, even pain—disturbed the man. Odhran understood that. Ciaran was a warrior, a leader within the scattered clanns. In battle, he was quick, decisive. In ruling, he was fair. He was a man always in control—or had been until this waif appeared in his life. Now he was adrift on a sea of unfamiliar feelings.

  Odhran turned his gaze to the woman. A little glimmer of insight niggled at his brain, like a worm dangling on a hook waiting for the fish to bite. The woman in Ciaran’s arms looked young and with her beautiful features and hair of gold spun with silver, there was a large portion of appealing waif to entice a man. Yet at the same time, Odhran sensed there were two in the place of one. Deep inside the waif, there was another. That other was dark, yet not evil.

  He wished the woman would wake. He wanted to look into her eyes. That other being seemed as old as time and full of pain. Odhran wanted to look into the mirrors of her soul to see. Surely the gods wouldn’t toy so cruelly with a good man like Ciaran.

  The Druids believed the human soul made a long journey through many lives in the course of its existence. Odhran was curious about this woman’s soul, guessing it had survived many lifetimes. As he watched, the woman slipped her right hand into Ciaran’s shirt and rested her palm above his heart. The couples’ legs were entwined like wild ivy and her hair cast a golden net across his chest. Even in sleep, the woman sought the binding. Then the pain hit.

  Niall rushed to the old Druid’s side. The man clutched his chest and fell to his knees. He panted, biting back moans. Niall looked helplessly at his wife, but her eyes were on the couple in the bed. Neither moved. Her sleeping draught had put them far beyond the pain’s reach. Siobhan knelt beside the old man and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

  “Is the pain hers?” she asked. He nodded. She continued to hold his face and stare into his eyes. Within moments, the Druid’s breathing returned to normal and he relaxed. Siobhan released him, and Niall helped both of them up.

  “Well?” the big soldier demanded.

  Siobhan turned sad eyes toward her husband. “They have much to conquer in this life, but if they persevere, they will have great rewards.”

  Niall walked the two of them over to the bench by the fireplace and settled them onto it. He oftimes got lost in his wife’s cryptic pronouncements and this was definitely one of those times.

  Siobhan absently patted the old Druid’s hand. The smile she offered him did nothing to hide her fatigue. “She is no witch, Niall, despite what you think. Nor is this some illness or disease that will infect us all.”

  Niall opened his mouth to protest, worried that the Druid had also succumbed to her pain.

  “Your wife speaks true, Niall,” Odhran confirmed quickly. After a pause to catch his breath, he added. “The girl is changing into a woman.”

  “Nay,” the big man spat. “I’ve never seen a cailín suffer that change as this one does.”

  Odhran shook his head, thinking for a moment. “Mayhap, my big friend, ’tis the other way around. The woman is changing into a girl.”

  Niall stood there, a look of total confusion splashed across his face.

  Siobhan cut her eyes to the Druid. The old man patted her hand now. “You feel it, too, daughter. There are two within her. Until one or the other wins out, there is little hope. And, if the wrong one does...”

  “What gibberish is this?” Niall demanded. “You said she was not a witch, but then how can there be two?”

  Siobhan stood up and laid a restraining hand on his forearm. “She’s no witch, Niall. I will vouch for that with my life.” She turned to face the Druid. “The pain comes from the joining?”

  The old man nodded, suddenly worn out. “Aye. The one who is must become the one who was.”

  “What of the MacDermot?” Niall demanded, still confused by the Druid’s ramblings.

  “What of him?” Odhran blinked owlishly.

  “Her pain is fearsome and it becomes his. Can she survive it? Can he?”

  “She may not.” Odhran sighed. “Mayhap, he as well.” At Niall’s sharp intake of breath, Odhran hastened to add, “Nay, his life will not be forfeit. His heart? That is yet to be seen.”

  Later, after Odhran had been fed and given a place to sleep, Niall sought out Siobhan. He’d checked on Ciaran and Becca, confirming both still slept peacefully, wrapped in each other’s arms. Niall stood in the doorway, watching the man he’d helped raise from boy to clann chief. A look of peace gentled Ciaran’s face, the expression was one Niall hadn’t seen since Ciaran’s childhood. Shutting the door, he’d bid the guards good night.

  Siobhan had taken a room not far from
Ciaran’s so she could tend to Becca as needed. She was already in bed when he entered. She looked fetching with the coverlet pulled up to her chin, and he suspected she had nothing on underneath. He started dropping his clothes at the door. Siobhan, her lips curled in a cheeky grin, urged him to hurry.

  “’Tis been too long, dear heart,” he growled. He kicked off his boots and his trews quickly followed. He dove under the covers Siobhan held up and gathered her into his arms. He found her full breasts, one with a rough hand, the other with his mouth. He loved her long into the night. He loved her until they were both exhausted and sleep claimed them.

  Just before dawn, Niall woke Siobhan and loved her all over again. When they were both satisfied, he pulled her close.

  “I am a man thick with no wit, my love,” he admitted. “I dinnit get much that was said last night by the Druid. Can yee straighten out my thinking?”

  Siobhan kissed his chest then laid her head on the spot. “Odhran thinks Becca’s soul has gotten lost,” she explained. He made a sign to ward off evil but she stayed his hand. “He thinks her soul came back to find Ciaran’s. When she was here the first time, they missed each other, and so her soul went on to other lives. But there was no living for her without him, so she’s come back. The two parts of her must become one, and that coming together is the source of her pain.”

  “Ciaran should just grab the bull by horns,” he snorted.

  “Oh?”

  “Aye.” He looked smug and superior, positive he had the answer. “He needs to tup her until she has no idea who she is.” He grinned wickedly at her. “Just like I’m going to do to you.”

  Siobhan kissed him deeply, thinking, Nay, he needs to tup her until she knows exactly who she is.

  Chapter Four

  When he awoke, Ciaran fought the urge to rip the gown from Becca’s body and spend the morning losing himself in her. From the moment he’d first seen her naked in his bed, despite her battered and bruised body, he’d wanted her. He wanted to cup her firm breasts in his hands while he kissed her long and deep. He wanted to explore every inch of her body with his tongue, and bury himself so deep inside her core, he wouldn’t know where he ended and she began.

  Becca stirred restlessly in her sleep and her right hand trailed down his belly to rest lightly on his manhood. He sucked in his breath. By the gods, he wanted that, too, wanted her mouth and hands touching every part of his body.

  Ciaran was about to throw caution to the wind when he heard the guard on the outer wall issue a challenge. Moments later, several horses clattered into the courtyard. Trying not to wake her, he reluctantly disentangled himself. Still dressed from the night before, he took only a moment to readjust his erection to a more comfortable position in his trews and run his fingers through the tangles of his hair. He snagged his mantle from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders as he headed straight to the great hall.

  Niall was already there greeting the three riders who’d come in. The colors in their mantles proclaimed they came from the O’Conor, King of Connaught. Two of the messengers asked only for a quick drink and fresh mounts. They were away even as the third began to recite his message.

  Conchobhar O’Conor, King of Connaught, had issued an ard fheis. Each clann chieftain in the O’Conor tuatha was to answer with the minimum of a detachment of men and provisions for both men and horses to last for at least three months. The messengers had been riding night and day to issue the edict to all those owing fealty to the O’Conor tuatha. The MacDermots had long held military responsibilities within the tuatha and were probably among the first to be notified.

  “What comes?” Ciaran asked when the courier paused for a breath.

  “Clann O’Brien raids from the south, Taoiseac MacDermot,” he stated coldly. “The O’Conor thinks to drive them from Connaught before midsummer. He is calling the clanns together. Will you attend?”

  Niall watched his liege carefully. He was the only one who’d noticed Ciaran’s glance up the stairs during the recitation of the ard fheis. This might be a solution to Ciaran’s current dilemma. Odhran and Siobhan had talked of a joining of the two selves within Becca. If Ciaran were away, perhaps things would come easier for the cailín. He also hoped it would be easier on Ciaran with half the country between them. He had little doubt Ciaran would do his duty. Ciaran’s words proved him right.

  “Aye, we’ll be coming and about time, too. I bring a company of horse and a company of hobelars. Have you time to rest?”

  The messenger shook his head. “Nay, Taoiseac MacDermot, though I thank you for your offer of host. I ride for Ros Comain, but I ask a boon. Spare me a fresh mount?”

  “Granted,” Ciaran replied, handing the man a cup. “Drink now and have a bite while we bring yee a horse.”

  Ever efficient, Niall strode toward the door, shouting orders even as a maid hurried forward with a plate of roasted meat and half a loaf of fresh bread. The man wolfed it down where he stood.

  Upstairs, Siobhan heard all the commotion and suspected what had transpired. She finished dressing and went to check on Becca. She tapped softly on the door. When there was no response, she eased it open. The cailín still slept, but Siobhan was pleased with the girl’s appearance this morning. Her face had some real color in it instead of the pallor and bruising of days past. The only shadows under her eyes were cast by her long lashes.

  ****

  “He has not bound her,” the female sighed.

  “Nor has the covenant been consummated,” said the male.

  “He cannot go ’til it is done. He cannot tempt fate this time.”

  “What about me?”

  With the third voice, the others grew silent.

  “I know you hear me. Why won’t you answer?”

  Still silence.

  “Please? Just tell me what’s going on. Is this a dream?”

  One finally broke the silence with a sharply indrawn breath.

  “Do not,” the female chided.

  “I must lest all go for naught,” the male argued. “Child of the Mortals, ’tis no dream we weave. You have journeyed long through Imrama Anam. You have been returned to An Domhan to fulfill your destiny.”

  “My...destiny? Oh, these are very good drugs.” Becca choked on a giggle.

  “Child, the veil closes. Our time here is short. You must listen. You must be who you have become, else the you who was will be no more.” The man was insistent.

  “Oh, that’s as clear as mud. What are you talking about?”

  “Seek within your heart, Child,” the woman murmured. “Seek with your heart to find what is missing.”

  “Your fate is tied to his, Child, and his to ours. Do not fail us.”

  ****

  Becca woke up feeling light-headed and with a mouth tasting like cotton. Her stomach growled loudly reminding her of how terribly hungry and thirsty she was, as if she’d gone days without food.

  “Other than a bit o’ broth and my potions, there’s no telling how long it’s been, cailín,” Siobhan chirped at her.

  She stared at the older woman. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Read my mind.”

  Siobhan smiled. “No mind reading, cailín. I heard your wee tummy complaining all the way over here.” She watched for a brief moment. “What troubles you, Becca?”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss it just yet, but she had too many questions without answers. This woman was kind to her and seemed to take many things in stride. Besides, she lived in this century, and Becca didn’t. She really needed some answers. “Siobhan, what is Imrama Anam?”

  The older woman took a step backward. “Why do you ask, cailín?”

  She shrugged. “I heard it mentioned somewhere, and I don’t know what it means,” she dissembled.

  “Methinks you would do well to seek counsel with Odhran,” Siobhan said softly, watching through narrowed eyes. “You can trust me, Becca,” she finally added.

  Becca
opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. If this wasn’t a dream, and she was back in medieval times, they’d probably burn her for a witch if she spoke of her life in the twenty-first century, not to mention those mysterious voices echoing in her head.

  Siobhan remained quiet, giving her ample opportunity to speak, then smoothed over the silence when it stretched too long. “Would you like a bath, cailín? At the very least, you need a change of clothes. That dress wasn’t meant for sleeping.”

  Becca blushed. “I would love a bath,” she said, wondering that such would be possible. She was woefully ignorant of this life. “But I really need to, um...” Her hands fluttered in a vague gesture.

  Siobhan grinned. “Can you find your way?”

  She nodded, her face now flaming. Siobhan opened the door and she fled down the hall, gainfully trying to ignore the guard hard on her heels. She made it to the garderobe and took care of business. The guard waited for her, but she steadfastly refused to look at him as she skittered back to her room. Stepping through the door, she was suddenly reminded it wasn’t just her room.

  That devastatingly handsome man who was so much a part of this fantasy banged about the room pulling out clothes. He grabbed a few other items and stuffed everything into a well-worn leather satchel.

  She hesitated just inside the door, afraid to disturb him. The man’s frenzied activity slowed.

  He stilled and turned. His gaze devoured her. She vaguely wished she’d had that bath and had on fresh clothes, but the burning desire in his eyes brushed the thought away. She could be wearing rags and it wouldn’t matter a bit to him.

  “Ah, cailín,” he sighed, looking her up and down. “Would that I could stay and explore what is to be between us.” His voice held so much promise.

  She remained very still, her heart in her throat.

  He took a deep breath and was all business again. “The O’Conor, my king, has sent out the ard fheis. Clann O’Brien invades Connaught. We leave for Tuam and the south as soon as we can provision.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. She’d never heard of Connaught or Tuam, or any king named O’Conor.