by Chevon Gael
"Seamus!"
Rhian started at Mrs. Mac's voice. She turned. The woman stood in the doorway clad in her usual frumpy attire. But something about her had changed. The lines of her brow seemed more withered than usual, her cheeks plumper and her ... her ears?
"It's time you told her, Seamus."
"Told me what?"
Seamus gently unfolded her arms about his neck. He cupped her face in his hands. A serious look came into his eyes. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
"This,” he said simply and turned her toward the doorway.
Not only were they no longer alone, but a small crowd had gathered in the room. Really small. Rhian gasped in amazement as a clan of shriveled forms approached her. Crooked backs and pointed ears all of them, but still bearing traces of the mortals they had been. Mrs. Mac, Flannigan, Davy, and even Beulah Buchanan. She was now looking at what appeared to be leprechauns or refugees from a sci-fi convention. In their reduced state they stared up at her. She could only swallow and stare back.
Mrs. Mac pushed herself to the front. “We've all been here such a very long time, waiting for you. And waiting. Go ahead, Seamus. Tell her."
Speechless, Rhian looked to him for an explanation.
"It was Fergus,” he began. “He kept this entire village under his thumb. As if keeping me prisoner wasn't bad enough. He had my magic shilling, the only true pot of gold that ever existed. He'd rather let the castle go to wrack and ruin and his own kind in the village die out than to see me free. My love, you see before you not only the last of the cluricaun, but the last of a grand line of the leprechaun as well. Oh, there are others who've made unworthy reputations in the modern world; mouldering in hollowed-out stumps and hiding under bridges and such. But the wicked kind."
"Aye,” croaked Flannigan. “Them be the black sheep ye hear tell of. They gets a mitt full of the drink, creeps out at night and runs amok. Foulsom deeds like turning the wool on new lambs and spoiling well water. The kind what Fergus would consort with.” He spat on the floor a little too close to Mrs. Mac's foot.
She spun around and heaved a swat so hard that one of Flannigan's leprechaun ears flopped forward.
"Owe! Mary!"
"I just cleaned this room. Ye've a troll's manners, Mickey."
Mickey rubbed his ear. “Ah, but an eye for a fine, plump lass, eh?” Then he winked at Mary, which Rhian noted crinkled up the entire one side of his face. What changelings these leprechaun were, not at all like the creatures of lore and legend Granny spoke of.
"So why are they—” She turned her attention from Seamus to the clan. “I mean why are you here instead of off making shoes and guarding your crock of gold?"
Davy Butler let out a bleating laugh. “Ye think us daft, lass? Why should we live under hedgerows like worms when we can live in comfort with a warm fire and sound roof over our heads. We have evolved.” A collective murmur of agreement followed him. “Ye see this?” He tugged at his knitted sweater. “Ordered from Harrod's and delivered by post. How's that for magic, eh?"
"But why ... excuse me, but why live out here with the dirt roads and the sheep shit?"
"Because of me.” It was Seamus who answered her question. “They came here because I was the only one who could protect them."
"I don't understand. You were locked in the stone."
"Fergus's fate was to watch over me. As long as I remained a prisoner, he could never die. His immortality was guaranteed by the curse and his prosperity by my shilling. They settled in this village with the hope that someday I'd be free. Unfortunately Fergus made slaves of them."
"But how? If they have the power to be seen as mortal, then why couldn't they just tell Fergus to ... to..."
"Fock off?” Trust Mrs. Mac to provide the answer. “'Tis simple, princess. Our magic had faded to almost nothing over time. A leprechaun needs a purpose. Our purpose is to watch over our crock. But with Fergus holding the source of the crock, we had no purpose. Oh, we had a call to do his bidding. Me, I fed him. Flannigan here provided the drink. Davy made the music and Beulah kept the dance alive. But it was Mairdrid—"
"My Mairdrid? You mean ... Granny?"
"Aye, the same. My Mairdrid, who married a mortal and left these shores. She gave birth to your mother, in a free land, far away from the reach of Fergus. The first time she looked into your eyes she saw the soul of Darianna and the salvation of us all. It was only a matter of time until you'd find your way back to us and your true self."
"And to me, my love."
Rhian faced Seamus. “So, what happens now?” She was almost afraid of the answer. Fergus was gone. Paddy was in jail. She glanced over at the group. They looked old and worn, forlorn and unhappy. If Seamus was free, what had gone wrong?
"You have to dance."
"What?"
"What you see here is the result of these folk using every last ounce of magic they had to cure you. The last of my own magic is on your feet.” He nodded downward. “The shoes. It's what—"
"It's what you do. Yeah.” She believed now. The myth dissolved into fact. Rhian wiggled her agile toes inside the shoes. Only an hour ago the bones were shattered, the skin swollen and bruised. Her recovery, if at all, seemed in doubt. Her career over with the likelihood that she would never walk unaided again. Now she felt as if she could dance from Dublin to Galway and back again. But it had come at a terrible cost. Of course she had to dance. And Seamus had to dance with her. It seemed now like the right thing to do, as if it was destined all along. She might be Rhiann MacNamara, the woman from Boston, but her toes belonged to Darianna, the fairy dancer. Somehow she had known it all along.
She fixed her gaze on Seamus. They were fae eyes, linked to a fae soul. But it was still a woman's heart beating beneath her breast. Woman or fae, it was a heart stirred by love and the ancient connection she had with a being who shared the same fate of separation. It was by this same destiny they had found each other again. Like the leprechaun around her, she needed a purpose or she, too, would cease to exist. And like them, she was a child of the nether world. A creature of Tir na nOg. Her purpose was suddenly clear; to share her future with Seamus. She hadn't come to Ireland; she had come home.
"I hear tell from Kathleen that your troupe will arrive tomorrow. I believe we have some practicing to do."
"But what about Fergus? Where is he?"
"In hiding, as far as we know. It may be decades before he decides to show himself again."
"So ... he could come back."
"But not to here. The shilling is restored. Each of these faithful souls will receive their crock. And they can return to their mortal forms if they wish."
"And you can dance.” The voice was Kat's. She leaned against the door frame, her face an unflattering shade of white. “Yeah, had to see it to believe it.” She spied Davy in the crowd and grimaced. She pointed. “You are so going back to the way you were."
Davy shrugged his crooked shoulders. “She likes me flag pole.” The crowd gave a low chuckle.
Rhian became aware of a constant tug on her nightgown. She looked down and realized she still had an audience.
Mrs. Mac stared up at her, the woman's beady eyes peeking out like two round marbles through a green scrunchie! Her squat, hairy fingers pulled at Rhian's wrist.
"What about you and Seamus?"
Seamus came to stand behind her. She turned to look into his eyes. “Granny said the enchanted can never leave here. That's means..."
"The moment you leave this place, you'll never dance again."
Rhian digested this information. Deep inside she always knew it. She realized then that she hadn't come home at all. In fact, she had never left.
"I know,” she whispered. “I know.” Then she looked across the room at Kat who was still ruefully sizing up her new mate, who still maintained his mythic stature. As if sensing her perusal, Davy turned his small, hairy head toward Rhian and winked. Instantly, he transformed into a tall, handsome man. Arm in arm, they left the bedroom
.
"Anything else, princess?"
Rhian gazed into Seamus's eyes and smiled. “Yeah, there is one thing. Don't call me princess. Now, get your shoes on. We have a show to do. I have to practice taking my final bow."
* * * *
And though it has never been established as a fact, there are those who believe that somewhere in the other world beyond the land of Tir na nOg, beats the heart not of a lost princess, but that of a loving wife and frequent mother. On the waxing of the Samhain moon, deep in the green glen, and echoing across the moor through the mist comes another sound—the collected cadence of dancing feet, toes tapping, heels clicking. And in the rare silence can be heard the sharp ring of a silver hammer patiently making shoes for a growing brood—and one fae woman with a very large closet!
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Chevon Gael
Chevon has been writing professionally for six years. She is a Canadian girl, born and raised, who loves the ski slopes in the winter and combing the beaches of the Maritime Provinces in the summer. She is happily married to a true-blue, red-blooded Canadian Mountie. Chevon and her husband belong to a short-haired domestic tabby named Buddy.
* * * *
Don't miss Dangerous To Love, by Chevon Gael,
available at AmberHeat.com!
A mother will do anything to protect her children from harm—even break the law, if necessary. Tara Morgan is that mother. A desperate woman in a desperate situation. She won't let anything get in her way. Certainly not macho Mountie Brett Sinclair. And it doesn't matter a damn how good he kisses!
A half-naked woman asleep by the side of the road. An ex-lingerie model turned designer. Every man's fantasy. A damsel in distress. P.C. Sinclair's luck just changed. Or did it?
She's a mobster's ex on the run. Now she's in his house. In the next bedroom. What red-blooded male wouldn't want her? But is she too dangerous to love?
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Don't miss Chaos And Communion, by Jamie Craig,
available at Amber-Allure.com!
Six months after Jesse Madding is brutally tortured by Marcus Brooker, he is still experiencing flashbacks, panic attacks, and jumping at his own shadow. His lovers, Gideon Keel and Emma Coolidge, would do anything to help him, but Jesse cannot tolerate the thought of being alone, and refuses to be hospitalized for treatment. Desperate for a change, Gideon and Emma suggest a radical solution.
Jesse wants to fix his life. More than anything, Jesse wants to be normal again. He doesn't want to live in fear. He doesn't want to be ashamed of his scarred and mutilated body. He doesn't want to shy away from Gideon's touch. Certain that the holding pattern will kill him, he agrees to Gideon and Emma's proposed solution: travel to an alternative dimension and save Marcus Brooker from witnessing Mary's grisly murder, in order to save Brooker's soul.
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Don't miss Ladies Of The Lakes, by Jane Toombs,
available at AmberQuill.com!
Fiery-haired Octavia travels far from the drawing rooms of her native England to the new United States’ Lake Ontario. Stranded by the war of 1812, she's surprised to find herself drawn to the wildness of a Seneca warrior...
Silver Grass, Octavia's daughter, fleeing from the white men's attacks on her people in New York State, finds refuge near Lake Superior with the Chippewa. Her heart dark toward all whites, how can she admit to any attraction when blacksmith and copper miner Olav Johanson courts her?
Elma, older daughter of Silver Grass, raised near Lake Erie by her father and stepmother, favors the Union cause during the War Between The States. Why, then, does she find herself drawn to Confederate prisoner Hunt Drury?
Marta, rebellious younger daughter of Silver Grass, flees her staid home to become a logging camp cook's helper in the wilds of Wisconsin near Lake Michigan. When she meets the son of the wealthy Easterner who owns the camp, she knows his attentions mean only heartache for her. Yet she finds herself unable to resist him...
Henrietta, Marta's daughter, lives near Lake Huron. Even as a child, she has her heart set on captaining a Great Lakes boat—an unheard of ambition for a woman. To reach her goal, however, must she give up the love of her life?
Five generations of fiery, stubborn women discovering their destinies beside the five Great Lakes...
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