by Anne Manning
His mouth suckled her. She thought she'd have to die now.
Without words, without thought, her legs parted. Surely she didn't do that? But try as her brain might to slow this down out of self-defense, her body wouldn't listen.
Gaelen growled and moved between her legs, taking her body's invitation. His ankles locked against hers, opening her even wider. He kissed her again, tenderly, his lips barely touching her, his breath cooling her fevered brow.
"My love," he whispered, catching her lips again.
Annabelle's heart took over and she enfolded him, pulling him to her with arms and legs and soul.
Then he was inside her, possessing her. They were one, joined together heart, soul, and body.
The entire universe condensed into this bed, in this tiny room, in a cottage in a remote Irish village. And they were the only inhabitants.
She dared to open her eyes. He rested on his elbows, holding his weight off her, and his eyes were open, too. They met, held, but for just a second. That one look was enough to push her over the edge into the splintering, glittering abyss.
"Oh, Gaelen, love."
Then something changed. At first she thought it was the aftereffects, but she opened her eyes and her lips parted in wonder.
Gaelen still loomed above her, but above him…
"Oh," she whispered. She raised her hands over his shoulders to his iridescent, multicolored wings. Her fingers hesitated, then brushed the translucent material. "Oh," she breathed again, stroking his wings with both hands.
Gaelen's reply was a groan of exquisite pain, and he fell on her.
His wings enfolded them both.
They lay there for a bit, breathing deeply and evenly.
"Bridget and Dagda," he moaned at last.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Both." Gaelen eased off her. He glanced back at his wings with a grimace.
"What's wrong?"
"I think I might have torn one." He actually blushed.
"Aren't they supposed to come out like that?"
"Not exactly."
She sat up. "Turn around and let me look. Where do they hurt?"
He turned. Annabelle gave him a wide berth.
Boy, did they ever spread. She wondered…
"Look at the root of the left one," he said. "Maybe it's just pulled."
She gently pushed his left wing aside and peered at the place where it came out of his back, right at his shoulder blade. Tenderly, she pressed her fingers against his skin. He didn't react.
"Right here?" she asked, pressing at the base of the wing.
"Yeah. See anything?"
"What, besides a fairy's wing? Nope, nothing special."
He favored her with a glare. "It's not funny."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." The endearment slipped out, as though she'd been calling him sweet names forever. "Does it hurt a lot?"
She rubbed his back, brushing her fingers against his wings, not exactly innocently. He jerked with every touch.
"Stop that," he said, not hiding his smile.
"What? Are they ticklish?"
"No," he said, swallowing a laugh.
"Oh, they are! How interesting."
"Stop it, you witch." He twisted around, brushing her face with his wing, and grabbed her hands. "Teasin' a poor innocent fairy lad."
"Innocent? Somehow, I doubt that!"
He chuckled with her, then spread his wings behind him and lay down, pulling her with him, wrapping them both. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope.
"What are they for?" she asked, fingering the flowing colors.
"Careful there, or you'll find out what they're for," he answered in a growl.
"Oh-ho! They're sexual organs, eh?"
"Well, not totally. They're for ornamentation, luring a female, like feathers."
"But they're sensitive," she added, gliding one fingertip along a vein.
"Yes," he said, grabbing her hands and holding them still.
"Do they always come out when you, ah...?"
"No." He seemed embarrassed. "Actually, we're supposed to be able to control them by the time we're my age."
Ignoring the warning to let the matter go, Annabelle asked, "Why did you…?"
"I didn't. They did." He hugged her tighter, and seemed unwilling to say more, though after a moment, he added, "I haven't been taken like that since I was a lad. I'm not an innocent, Annabelle."
"I didn't think you were."
"I've known lots of women, fairy women all of them. And I had a fair regard for each one. But--" He stopped, his lips forming and discarding words. "But with you, it was…"
"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" She let him off the hook and nuzzled his neck, inviting him to lose himself in her again.
He tipped her chin up. "Now, we must sleep. We have a big job in the mornin'." His lips drifted over hers, promising much more. Then he settled down, drawing her closer.
She was content to remain in his embrace, their legs entwined, within the cocoon of Gaelen's wings.
Chapter Twenty Three
"Wake up, love." Gaelen kissed her forehead. "Time to get to work."
Annabelle blinked against the lamplight. A glance at the velvet black just beyond the lacy curtains hanging at Mrs. O'Hara's guest bedroom window told her it was…still night? They hadn't slept the day away, had they?
"What time is it?"
Gaelen glanced up at the window. "I'd say about four-thirty."
"Four-thirty? Why so early?" she asked over a yawn.
"We have to be there before daybreak, ready to enter when the door opens. Come on, now. Up with you."
With a stretch, she turned to Gaelen still sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to come fully awake. He was already dressed. Sitting up, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him around, studying his back.
"Where are they?"
"I put them away. Ain't decent to be flashing 'em around."
She smiled. "Well, just as long as you can get to them easily next time I want to see them."
He raised a dubious eyebrow. "So, you're only lustin' after me wings, are you?"
Studying him, she replied, "You do have other features to commend you to my attention."
"Indeed? Well, we'll just have to examine that further when we have time. But right now," he leaned over and kissed her again, running the tip of one finger along the curve of her breast, "we need to get goin'. 'Tis a good distance to the rath."
"The what?"
"Finnvarra's fortress. A ring fort, like Tara, but somewhat smaller."
"Oh." She sat on the edge of the bed. "You go ahead to the bathroom first. I'm still waking up." A yawn overcame her and she stretched deliciously.
His eyes devoured her, filling her with an unexpected, but well-recognized burst of feminine pride.
"Actually, my love, I have to beg a favor from you."
"Anything," she said.
"Could you sweep the salt away from the door?" He pointed to the white crystals lining the threshold. "I can't pass it."
"Why not?"
"How should I know? It's magic."
"No attempt to explain with nuclear physics?"
"Nope."
Was it progress for Gaelen to acknowledge there might be no explanation? She got up to sweep away the salt and opened the door for him. He gingerly approached, sliding one toe forward and out the door into the hallway.
"Thank you, love." He kissed her lips, holding on and almost dragging her, butt-naked, into the hall after him. "Hmmm. Keep my place for me."
She laughed and pushed the door shut.
After they'd taken turns in the bathroom, they went downstairs, Annabelle carrying the bag.
"And there they are, finally comin' down the stairs." Mrs. O'Hara grinned at them from her seat by the fire.
"Mrs. O'Hara, you're up early. I hope we didn't disturb you," Gaelen said.
"Ach, no, sir. Auld ones as me need little sleep. Soon enough I'll have all the rest I can h
andle." The old woman smiled. "I heard you stirrin' and thought such an early start must mean some important business. No doubt with the auld king? No, no," she waved her hand. "No need to tell me anything about it. But you'll not be leavin' my house wi' no food in yer bellies." She got up and tottered around, pulling three bowls and spoons from her cabinet, and went to the pot simmering over the fire. "'Tis naught but stew, warmed over it is, but good for not bein' fresh cooked. Not what you Yanks are used to for breakfast, but it'll do you better than a gruel."
"Well, thank you, Mrs. O'Hara, we'll be glad for a bit of stew." Gaelen ushered an intensely grateful Annabelle, suddenly aware of a ravening hunger, to the table where Mrs. O'Hara set a steaming bowl of stew before her. The old lady put a plate of bread in the middle.
"There you are, my dears." Mrs. O'Hara settled herself at the table and took up her spoon. As Annabelle ate, the old woman quizzed Gaelen. "You'll be goin' up to the old rath today?"
Annabelle jerked a look at Gaelen who regarded Mrs. O'Hara calmly.
The old woman nodded, "Yes, sir, go ahead and plumb away. I know you're in there." She tapped a knobby finger against her temple. "Who has the auld king ta'en this time?"
"My sister-in-law," Gaelen replied.
Mrs. O'Hara nodded. "And you know how to get her out, do you?"
Gaelen smiled. "I know a couple of ways."
The woman cackled. "Yes, I suppose you do." She sobered. "But beware, sir, you don't seem so auld as the king. He is wily from dealing wi' mortal ones for many centuries."
Annabelle lost her appetite.
"Don't you worry, lass," Mrs. O'Hara said. "From what I see, you have a gallant champion to fight for your sister."
"Are you done, darlin'?" Gaelen asked Annabelle.
She nodded. Where had the sudden fear come from?
Gaelen rose and Annabelle followed.
"Mrs. O'Hara," he said to the old woman, "I don't know how long it'll be before our return." She nodded at his words. Annabelle felt they were sharing a secret she had no part in. "If you're not here when we get back, I want you to know how much we've appreciated your help."
"It has been no trouble a'tall, sir," she replied. "Good huntin'."
Gaelen winked at her and smiled, and they left the house. As they walked toward the car. Annabelle slowed.
"Gaelen, what did that mean? What you said to her before we left? If she's not there?"
"She's old, Annabelle. She may not be here."
Annabelle couldn't believe her ears. How could he be so cruel? "That's a terrible thing to say."
"She understood what I was saying."
"Why not explain it to me?"
They'd reached the car. Gaelen popped the trunk and Annabelle dropped the bag inside. He slammed the lid and hit the electronic lock button on the key ring to unlock the doors. He didn't answer her question until they were on their way.
"Once we enter the rath, we're at Finnvarra's mercy. If he decides to, he can make a moment seem like a hundred years, or a hundred years like a moment. When we come out it could seem to those out here like we've been gone just a few minutes--or a few centuries." He cut her a glance. "In fact, it's a risk, not to me, because I'm fairy, but to you. If Finnvarra decides to have time slow down in there, you won't know it, until you come out."
He stared at the road ahead of them.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
He took a deep breath. "It means, if he wants to, he can make sure you don't tell anybody anything about us. If he makes time slow down enough in there, say a couple of centuries," he glanced at her and she could see the pain in his eyes, "you'll step out of the rath, see the sun, and turn to dust."
"Dust?"
He nodded. "There's a story, you see--"
"Is there a story for everything here?"
Gaelen considered her question. "Yes. Now, stop interrupting me. A fairy princess, Neve of the Golden Hair, took a liking to a comely lad by the name of Oisin, son of the great Irish warrior, Finn MacCool. She asked him to go with her to the land of her father, the king of the Land of Youth. He was so taken by love for her, he forgot every earthly thing and went with her. He was no more seen in Ireland for three hundred years, which passed for him but as a few weeks. Begging leave to visit his comrades, Oisin left the Land of Youth on a steed given him by his lover. Neve charged him not to leave the horse's back, or she would be forever cut off from him. With a kiss and a promise to return, Oisin set off.
"He arrived in western Ireland at the place where his father's fortress had been, but found only a grassy mound. He rode on from that place, terror building in his heart, intending to traverse Ireland from west to east, in the hope of finding a familiar face.
"He came upon a group of men attempting to move a boulder. Being a generous lad, he rode up to lend his hand to their work. But as he heaved at the stone, his saddle girth broke and he tumbled off his mount. As he hit the ground, the white steed vanished and Oisin, no longer a young man, but old and withered and dim-eyed, was left behind."
Annabelle breathed to slow down her heart. He was telling her what could happen to her and for a moment all she could see was herself, old.
Withered.
Dim-eyed.
"And you?" she was finally able to ask.
"I'll be unaffected. I am what I am." He drove in silence. "This is why we seem immortal, because our lives spent in Faerie take nothing from the time we spend here."
"Okay, I get the picture."
"The choice is yours, Annabelle. I can't say if we go in together what will happen when we come out. I can't say if I go in alone whether I'll come back with Erin in your lifetime."
"We go together," she said, grasping at his hand.
He brought her hand to his lips.
He turned the Mercedes into a narrow path, two ruts leading to a rise. "Here we are. Knockma."
There was no sign of a fortress, only a grassy mound. As Gaelen said, it was like Tara, but Annabelle could see from a distance it was nowhere near the size of Tara's outer ring.
Gaelen stopped and slammed the car into park. "Let's go," he said, popping the trunk open as he got out.
Annabelle followed. He let her take the bag out of the trunk.
"Get the bottle of ointment out."
She got it and handed it to him. He'd wrapped it in a linen cloth that he now took off it.
"Here's the plan," he started.
"Well, finally."
He spared her only a quick grimace. "I want you hidden from them as much as possible. So, take the ointment and put it on you."
"There's enough?"
"Sure, but," he hesitated. "Well, you'll have to take your clothes off."
"What?" She stared at him. "You must be nuts. I'm not going to take my clothes off out here. What do you think I am?"
"Darlin' girl, I'm not any crazier about this than you are, especially now."
"Now? What about now?"
"I don't fancy having my woman struttin' about stark naked."
"My woman? Wait just a second, Dr. Riley--!"
"We really don't have time for a long discussion of male-female roles in modern society, Annabelle. We can figure out our relationship later, after all this is taken care of and we have a future to plan for."
A future to plan for. Those words took all Annabelle's steam. Well, almost all of it.
"Well, whether I'm your woman," her cheeks flushed pleasantly at the sound of those words, "or not, I'm not taking my clothes off out here in the great outdoors."
"Then you'll have to wait while I go in alone."
"No."
"Then you'll have to do it my way."
"Why?"
"Because I said so. And we don't have much time, so please make up your mind."
"Okay, tell me again why I have to be naked."
"Because we don't have enough ointment to conceal you clothed. You'll put it all over you, then the fairies won't be able to see you."
"You either?"
/> "Me either. Of course, Erin will, and she might give you away, but that's a risk we'll have to take."
Annabelle thought about it for a moment. "Okay, if you're sure nobody else will be able to see me. What else then?"
"I'll tell you as we get to it. Go ahead."
"Turn around," she ordered him.
"Annabelle, that's silly. I've seen you--"
"Turn around."
He narrowed his eyes, but he turned his back to her. "Didn't think you'd get all fluttery on me."
She ignored his jab and took the top off the bottle. It was about the size of a sample bottle of hand lotion, so she carefully measured out a dime-sized dollop and with a stingy fingertip, dotted it on her face, smoothing it over her skin.
Moving down an inch at a time, she modestly covered herself until she was fairly sure she was hidden from fairy sight.
This is really stupid, she said to herself. Fairies. If she hadn't seen Gaelen's wings with her own eyes, she might throw up her hands right now. If Erin hadn't been taken away…
Reminded of their purpose for being here, no matter the personal developments, Annabelle moved on, finally dabbing her toes with the ointment.
"Okay, I think I'm ready," she said.
Gaelen turned around. And he started laughing.
"What?" she asked, twisting around.
"Nothing. It's just, well, you look like a disembodied wig floating around in space. Here," he said, taking the bottle from her and pouring a few drops on his palm. "Turn around, love." When she did, he snickered.
"Gaelen," she warned.
"I'm sorry, sweet," he leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck. How had he known where it was? "Just stand still for me." He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging the ointment in. Removing his hands from her hair, she started to move and nearly jumped when she felt his hands stroking down her back, her backside, the backs of both legs.
"There. That's it. Can't see a thing."
Annabelle held up her hand in front of her face. "Gaelen, I can still see me."
"Yes."
"Is there some way I couldn't?"
"Poor shy baby," he cooed and removed the bottle from the pocket where he'd just slipped it. He put a single drop on his fingertip. "Look here and guide my hand to your eye."
